#on one hand it is wildly offensive at parts

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

☒ Summary: "Alastor said we've met before. In the living world. But I seriously don't ever remember meeting him." Angel looked puzzled. "Soo... what do you remember from your life?" 

☒ Warnings: fem!reader she/her pronouns used, hurt with no comfort sorry, tons of confusion for alastor and the reader, one kiss, very suggestive language (its from angel- are we surprised?), slight self harming (alastor), blood, tears, arguing, desprate!alastor, toxic themes, split pov (second devider is when alastor's pov starts!)

☒ Word Count: 2,653

"You- WHAT?" 

Angel shot up from his spot on your bed. His eyes widened, eyebrows knitting in perplexity.

"I know- I know! It's bad... but I wasn't thinking clearly!" You slumped under Angel's judgemental gaze, pulling your knees up to your chest from where you sat on your bed. 

"Toots, there is no way his pussy eating skills are good enough to fuck you that dumb!" You averted your gaze. Heat rose to your cheeks from Angel's crass words.

"Oh, but they are..." You mumbled before you felt two of Angel's hands grip your shoulders, shaking you out of frustration.

"Did you really have to pick an absolute psychopath to be the one to pop your cherry? Toots, you're gorgeous. You could have anyone you want!" You were flustered beyond comprehension as Angel stopped shaking you. Opting to glare at your heated face instead. 

"We didn't go all the way! Plus he's the one who's been pursuing me all this time- I didn't get it at first, and I still don't. But-" Your expression morphed into one of contemplation. Angel's jaw went slack as he impatiently awaited your next words. "But what?! Spit it out!"

"He said we've met before. In the living world. But I seriously don't ever remember meeting him." Angel nudged you to the side before slotting himself atop your bed once more. "Soo... what do you remember from your life?" 

You froze. 

Angel's inquiry filled your mind with more questions than answers. 

"I... not much," You paused, turning to face Angel before you continued. "The earliest memory I have is waking up in a hospital bed after surviving a blow to the head from some hunting accident." 

You closed your eyes, wracking your brain for every last detail you could remember; no matter how small. "I ended up falling into a coma only days after that mishap. The next thing I know, I'm in fucking hell." You chucked bitterly. Angel let out a laugh of his own. 

"No offense, babe, but that has to be one of the saddest fuckin' things I've ever heard," Angel outstretched his legs, overlapping them atop yours. "That accident, what else can you remember about it? Maybe that's the ticket!" 

Your eyes shot open from Angel's question. "Wait... before I fell into a coma, there was this nurse- she told me that I was led into the woods by a dangerous fellow," You paused, eyes scanning Angel's wildly as he perched himself forward. Literally hanging on the edge of his seat from your musings. 

"She told me the gunshot wound saved my life, fucking ironic now because It ended up killing me anyway. She also said that... the man who took me into the woods was a serial killer who had been on the run for decades. He ended up getting shot in the head that night, also. Except he died instantly..."

Angel was hanging on to every word you uttered. He could see the pieces falling into place from your look of awe. "What was the man's name, toots? What was it?!" Angel shouted a little louder than he intended. You jolted back from his outburst, taking in a shaky breath. You replayed that memory with the nurse over and over again. 

She had to have said it at some point. 

Come on! Think, think- think!

“Turns out the man you were out in those woods with was a wanted serial killer. That 𝘈⃒̅𝘭⃒̅𝘢⃒̅𝘴⃒̅𝘵⃒̅𝘰⃒̅𝘳⃒̅ fellow was an active murderer for decades! The papers say he was good at steering clear of the cops for all these years. The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer.”

"His target was a nearby deer."

A deer... 

Again. 

Retrace.

"That ɹ̸o̸ʇ̸s̸ɐ̸ʅ̸Ɐ̸ fellow was an active murderer for decades! The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer."

Fuck- it was just out of reach. 

One more time, one more fucking time. 

Think carefully. 

"The hunter wasn’t even aiming for That A͊l͖a̪sto̶̸̅r̷̦͍ fellow. His target was a nearby deer."

You gasped sharply, startling Angel. You felt your heart sink into your stomach as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"Alastor... his name was Alastor." 

Your voice was distant as you spaced out. Angel's face blurred out of focus through your line of sight. 

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me. That freak was going to kill you when you were still alive-? And now... you belong to him? Shit- toots! This is rough... and not the good kind of rough." 

Alastor sat at the piano. Staring at the keys with that ever-present smile— but not daring to strike a tune. 

You’ve been avoiding him again.

What was it going to take for you to realize that he was your fiancé on earth? 

Sure, his features were more creature than man, but at the end of the day; Alastor was still the same man you fell in love with. 

Maybe he should have held off from his… desires. 

Could you blame him, though? He’s been waiting nearly a century to be reunited with his beloved. 

You’re the person he thought about for all these lonely years in hell. The only solace for Alastor was the notion that you survived, lived a long happy life, and inevitably made it to the pearly gates. 

So imagine his despair when you showed up at the Hazbin Hotel, looking to be redeemed. 

Alastor recognized you immediately. He could spot that grin of yours in a crowd of billions. 

Smile at the world, and she smiles back at you. 

But— you didn’t even spare him the time of day. Alastor gave you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you just needed some time to reignite your memory. 

And so, he gave you time. You’ll come around, Alastor thought. 

But he couldn’t have been more wrong, as much as he hated to admit it. 

He grew impatient— losing all of his resolve when you admitted to his voice reminding you of home. 

Alastor presumed maybe a passionate encounter would jumpstart your adoration for him. You had never breached that level of intimacy when you both were alive. You were adamant about waiting until marriage, but those dreams never came true. 

Yet even still, it was not enough. 

Was he really that forgettable to you? 

Suddenly, a knock on his door pulled him from his stupor. Alastor quickly cleared his throat, straightening his bowtie and taking steps toward his door. 

The second he swung the door open, he was met by the person who invaded his every thought; you. 

“What a pleasant surprise! Come in, my dearest.” Alastor piped up, stepping aside to let you into his safe haven. 

Your face was devoid of any vibrancy, and your eyes frantically avoided his. Alastor watched you closely as you hesitantly stepped past the threshold of his space. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Alastor hummed as he shut the door before turning on his heel to face you. 

You rubbed at the sleeve of your dress nervously. Alastor’s mind instantly flashed the memory of your first meeting. 

The sight of you soothing yourself with a gentle caress to your bicep. Clammy hands seeping perspiration through that gorgeous vermilion dress of yours.  

“I-I remember you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Legs trembling from where you stood before him.

Your words caused Alastor’s heart to race wildly. 

At long last— you remember him! 

“I knew you would, my smart girl! Ah- you have no clue how elated I am to finally hear those words leave your lips!” He invaded your personal space without missing a beat. 

Alastor’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as you dodged his hand— that had full intention of clasping around your cheek. 

“Don’t… don’t touch me.” Your voice was shrill as you took a step back from him. 

Alastor took one step forward. 

“My darling, why are you being so cold? You know how much I loathe teasing.” Alastor forced out a chuckle as you took two steps back. 

Alastor took three steps forward this time. 

“You’re sick! You’re the one who’s been teasing me all this time— how dare you?!” You spat, raising your hands to push him away, but to no avail. 

Alastor grasped your wrists with his large palms. He gazed down at you with a frenzied look, grip tightening scarcely around your wrists. “Darling… this isn’t funny anymore.” His voice was low, and the corners of his lips twitched in irritation. 

“It never was funny to begin with! I mean, how could you try to kill me on earth and then think it’s okay to fool around with me in hell?!” You glared up at him, tears of frustration now rolling down your cheeks. 

Alastor’s grip loosened from your words. He was utterly astonished. "You think I... tried to kill you?" His voice was quiet, crimson orbs frantically searching yours. 

You grimaced at him, rolling your eyes before you shouted, "You led me out into the woods, and the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital with a gunshot wound to the head and no memories before waking up in a stiff hospital bed! Everything I know about you and the accident was spoon-fed to me by some crappy nurse!"

Alastor's smile dropped. He wasn't even aware of the frown that crossed his features. The only giveaway was the absence of that standard achy feeling in his cheeks from holding an everlasting grin. "Darling, I-I'm not following... you mean to tell me you... don't remember your life before that mishap?" 

You looked puzzled by Alastor's uncharacteristic display of distress. His hands slipped from your wrists as he wobbled backward. "Yeah, and It's your fault! If you didn't haul me out into those woods to kill me, I would still remember who I was! And my whole life before all this bullshit!" 

You took a step forward. 

"I would remember my family, my career, if I even fucking had one! I would remember my joyful memories, my painful ones, and— and- maybe I would remember somebody who actually loved me!" You furiously glared up at him. Pointing your index finger into his chest in an accusatory fashion. 

Alastor snapped at your last words. 

Somebody who actually loved you?

It was him.

It was always him. 

Was his love for you really that immemorable?

"You truly aren't joking... you... don't remember me." Alastor felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. You were the last thing keeping it intact. All that he felt in his chest now was your blunt fingernail piercing his skin from where you jabbed him. 

"I just told you I do! What the fuck are you talking about?!" Alastor could tell your patience was wearing thin. You were probably just as confused as he was but for all the wrong reasons. 

Alastor's arms fell limp against his sides. Yet his fists were balled up so tightly that he could hear the pitter-patter of his blood spilling onto the carpet from how deeply his nails sunk into the flesh of his palm. 

You weren't ever going to believe the truth, but Alastor still needed to try.

"My dearest... that is not how we met. And my intentions were not and never will be to end your life." Alastor paused, taking in a shaky breath before continuing. 

"You're frustrated about not remembering somebody that loved you, yes? As am I..." You tilted your head in confusion. Finally pulling your finger away from his wounded chest. "What the fuck are you trying to say, Alastor?" Your voice was laced with annoyance, and your scowl was unwavering. 

"Darling, that somebody that loved you was me-and still is. It will always be me," Alastor paused, hands now finding purchase on your shoulders. "That accident should have never happened! We were scheduled to be wed at the courthouse later that evening... but... we never... made it..."

Why were his cheeks burning unbearably so? 

And why was your countenance blurring before his very eyes? 

Alastor's grip on your shoulders was unwavering, but his hands now trembled. Your expression was one of perplexity as you shook your head incredulously. "I loved you in life and now in death. I've loved you all this time, my sweet girl. Nothing will ever change that! Please, I beg of you- you must believe me!"

The definitive radio static crackle to his voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, his voice was laced with desperation. You looked disoriented through his blurry gaze as you took a weary step back. 

Alastor felt wetness trickle down his burning cheeks. 

Oh, he was... crying?

The last time he wept was when he first arrived in this grim place otherwise known as Hell. The realization that he left you on earth all alone tore him up. Alastor was inconsolable for years.

You truly knew how to put him together just to rip him apart all over again, huh? 

There is no undoing grander than love itself. 

"I-I don't believe you..." Your voice was just above a whisper as you slipped out of his grasp and approached the doorway. You turned your back on him, literally and metaphorically. 

Alastor didn't miss a beat. He rushed to you, large palm slamming flat against the wooden door. "We worked at the same radio station! Your bitch of a friend Elaine and her parents took you in after your pill-addict parents abandoned you on your eleventh birthday!"

You let out a sharp gasp as he hovered over you. Alastor couldn't read your expression, with your face practically pressing into the wooden door. All he could see was the top of your head as he pushed his chest into your rigid back. His arm was outstretched, keeping the door shut and caging you in entirely. 

"It was love at first sight for me! We went dancing for our first date. Did you truly fail to notice how effortlessly we moved along the dancefloor at Charlie's last gathering? It's because deep down, your body remembers every dance we ever shared,"

Alastor flipped you over faster than you could process. Your back was now flush against the sturdy door, his arm still caging you in. He peered down at you as his thumb and index finger from his non-dominant hand grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Every lingering touch..." 

He felt you tremble beneath his intense stare from how his chest now squashed against yours. Alastor's face dipped lower, invading your personal space. He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, breath fanning over your tear-stained cheeks. 

"And every kiss..."

Alastor observed you desperately as he pressed his lips against yours. He poured all his love into the shared embrace, hoping it would jumpstart your memory. But instead, you just shoved him away harshly, breaking away from his embrace. Alastor felt his world crumble around him as you wiped his kiss away with the back of your hand.

"You're fucking crazier than I thought!" With Alastor still reeling from the rejection, you took your leave. The sound of the door slamming thundered through his head. 

Alastor sunk to his knees. His hands came up to tug at his messy tufts of hair. Allowing the tears to flow freely now that he was completely alone.

Alastor did not think you were capable of hurting him until now. 

Alastor yanked at his locks furiously as his cheeks burned brightly in frustration. His knees quivered as his forehead kissed the carpet that was stained with his blood from earlier—when he unintentionally ripped up his palms. Alastor curled in on himself as he wept. 

This pain was worse than any other.

But more than anything, his love for you only burned brighter.

As did his determination to have you remember him and the pleasant life you both shared before all was lost. 

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86 @saccharine-nectarine @c-thegingergirl @tsunaki @geminixbunny @softangxlicss @alleystore @sirens-and-moonflowers @fairyv-ice @honey132 @alastorsaries @zenix108 @michi-keinz @fokrilove @yourdoorisunlocked @willowshadenox @izakyun @fangirlbitch02 @kyana-chan @aquariaries @sincerely-lorely @maxlynn17 @ivebeenthearchersstuff

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #alastor angst #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff

[rainbow-nerdss]

Eddie came out to Steve and Robin shortly after he got out of hospital. Robin came out to him first, and she made it clear Steve was accepting of her.

Eddie still worried though, because he knew guys could be just fine with lesbians but still get on the defensive when it came to gay guys existing around them He didn't want to believe that of Steve, not after everything they'd been through together, but he couldn't be sure all the same.

When he did finally manage to get the words out, he tried to sound casual, like it was no big deal, but of course he failed. In a lull in the conversation, Steve still mid-laugh from the last thing Robin said, Eddie just blurted it out. "I'm gay."

Just that. Those two words. Robin sat upright and yelled at him, something along the lines of "Why didn't you tell me before?" but Eddie wass too busy looking at Steve's reaction to answer her.

He watched as Steve's face fell, as the sparkle in his eyes dulled and his brows pulled together. Eddie felt his heart break a little, braced himself for rejection.

"Relax, man," he added, heart racing, saying anything he could think of to make Steve act normal about this. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Harrington. Just because I like guys doesn't mean I'm gonna turn around and hit on you, no offense but you're not my type."

It was a fucking lie, of course. At least partially. Because Steve wasn't Eddie's usual type, but that had stopped mattering the moment Eddie watched him bite that bat in half and it mattered even less with every subsequent interaction they had. The truth was, Eddie had it bad for Steve.

Steve took a moment, expression slowly filtering from whatever his initial reaction had been to something more supportive.

"Gee, thanks," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Good to know." Eddie sighed with relief. Steve reached out and rested a hand on Eddie's shoulder and Eddie did his best not to lean into the touch.

And they don't mention it again.

---

Steve had been trying to work up the courage to ask Eddie out for months. Every time Eddie bumped shoulders with him while they walked, every time he heard the sound of Eddie's guitar through an open window before he knocked on the door, every time they were alone together and Eddie was gesturing wildly talking about something Steve knew nothing about, Steve wanted to kiss him.

It was almost background noise after a while, but when Robin made it clear Eddie knew about her, that he was cool with it, that he'd been supportive, the feeling had exploded into something more.

Steve was embarrassed to say he was probaby just one of Eddie's blinding grins in his direction away from finding a notebook for the express purpose of scribbling the words Steve Munson, SH❤️EM all over the margins.

Maybe he could ask Eddie out, and maybe he wouldn't cut Steve off immediately, but there was a big difference between a girl coming out to you and some guy hitting on you directly, so Steve was waiting for the right time, when he could beat a hasty retreat and maintain some dignity if it went bad.

And then Eddie came out.

Steve felt himself freeze, hope fizzing in his chest as he tried his best not to look too giddy with excitement at the idea. He'd barely processed the words when Eddie said the rest.

No offense, but you're not my type

The hope which had previously started to blossom shrivelled up and died, while Steve stumbled through what he hoped was a supportive response. He wanted to make it clear that Eddie had nothing to fear from him, even while his heart broke.

Eddie liked guys.

Eddie just didn't like him.

Steve had been rejected before, but it had never stung like this.

(part 2)

#might write a follow up to this soon but ive been thinking about it all day and needed to share #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #steddie fic #ficlets and headcanons

[laurfilijames]

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Hurricane. Power outage. Oral sex (F receiving). Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: A hurricane rolls in and knocks out the power, allowing Will to make good use of the time waiting it out with you.

A/N: I've had this idea toiling around in my head for a bit, and when we recently lost power at our cottage, I decided to go for it. I have no experience of hurricanes so I apologize if this isn't accurate, though I tried to remain vague. A big thanks to @rhoorl for the Florida hurricane knowledge and to @ramadiiiisme for supporting this idea through to the very end 💗

---

The sight when you reached the top of the stairs stopped you in your tracks, admiring Will standing by the large window of your living room looking out at the wrath of weather outside, his expression content and thoughtful.

You set down the pile of various candles you had collected from every room in the house, smiling despite feeling a tangle of nerves in your stomach at the potential strength of this growing hurricane.

“Should you be standing that close to the window?” you asked, causing Will to smirk and glance over his broad shoulder at you.

“She’s starting to really ramp up out there.”

You sighed in response, dreading the thought of it getting any worse, the rain already accumulating to the point that the drainage systems on the street couldn’t keep up with it.

Will remained in place, staring back out at the palm trees swaying wildly, the bend of their trunks impressive, seeming completely unbothered by the storm and almost calmed by it.

Coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and brought your hands up to his chest, feeling him take a slow breath in as he covered one of your hands with his.

“I like watching Mother Nature do her thing,” he explained, his voice soothing and even. “She’s angry, letting it all out.” He squeezed your hand as you rested your cheek on his back, already tired of watching the sheets of rain and extreme wind bully everything in their paths.

“I know what that’s like,” he finished, exhaling another slow breath that you felt fill and deflate out of his lungs.

Will turned and gathered you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his somber admission now an afterthought. “So, what did you manage to scrounge up?” he asked, his tone lighter than before.

“Oh, just every candle I’ve ever bought or been given,” you smiled, turning your head to look at the array that was spread out on the kitchen table. “It might look nice when they’re all lit up, but the combination of scents might be a bit offensive.”

Will laughed, his body moving against yours with the motion of it, and you smiled and looked up at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim grey of the storm.

“I just hope the power stays on a bit longer,” you wished out loud, knowing however many candles you made glow wouldn’t be enough to outshine the encroaching dark from the storm let alone the fact that it was creeping later into the night.

“Hmm, yeah, the air conditioner is hardly keeping up as it is,” Will explained, his hand smoothing up your back where it dragged your shirt along with it, the stickiness of your skin and clothes already beginning to feel intolerable.

The lights flickered and the sound of the power surging through the house made both of you part slightly to glance at your surroundings, the warmth from the light of the lamps that were turned on illuminating your belongings for the last time before everything went dark.

Will chuckled while you groaned, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. “Well, sweetheart, it looks like you’ve got a superpower.”

You shot him a glare as you walked over to the table, starting to distribute the candles throughout the kitchen and living room, but not lighting any yet since some light was still coming in from outside.

Will sat on the couch, grinning as he watched you, almost seeming like he was pleased and entertained by the situation.

“How long before you turn on the generator?” you asked, testing your luck even though you knew what the answer was going to be.

He shook his head as he laughed again, “Not until I need to. We might have a ways to go here and I’m not wasting gas in the first few hours of this.”

His eyebrows crept up his forehead as he spoke, his voice stern and amused all at once. “You’re going to have to be patient and trust me.”

You sighed and nodded, flicking the Zippo lighter you held on and off a couple of times before walking into the living room to join him, knowing that out of all the people to have by your side during an emergency, Captain William Miller was the best and most capable one.

He had already spent hours checking the house to make sure everything was secure, gathering supplies like gasoline and food and water, and hauled sandbags all morning with Benny and Frankie that they distributed out to the neighbours, even making a point to check in on some of the elderly ones.

“C’mere,” he purred, beckoning you over to where he sat comfortably, his long legs spread wide with one arm draped over the back of the couch.

He looked at you adoringly as you moved toward him slowly, his smile growing to pull out the creases beside his mouth that couldn’t be kept hidden in his beard, and you matched it with your own sly grin, suddenly forgetting everything that was happening around you as you became pleasantly distracted by the man sitting before you.

You straddled his lap, pulling up the hem of your flowy skirt as you did, seating yourself directly on the bulge in his workout shorts that elicited a low moan from him.

“It’s going to be a long night, sweetheart,” he spoke softly, his eyes flickering over your chest and then up to your lips. “We’re going to have to ride this thing out.”

It was said with such implication that despite the heat, you shivered, goosebumps crawling up your back and down your arms, and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you squirmed on his vast thighs.

“And what are your suggestions for…riding… it out, Captain?”

Will shrugged and smirked, his eyes glowing the same way his skin was from the humidity that hung heavily in the room, his hands groping at your hips.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks, loving the way his dark blond facial hair felt against your palms, and pulled him into a kiss while arching your back to get your body closer to his at the same time, both of you breathing out in the relief of your lips meeting.

Will set the pace, starting off with slow rolls of his tongue with yours, his hands carding up and down your body languidly, reminding you that there was no hurry in any of your actions and that you had all the time in the world to do anything you wanted with each other.

You slid your hands down the thick column of his neck to his chest, feeling his pulse hammer against them, landing on his chest where his body heat poured off of him, the cotton of his t-shirt damp and clinging to his form.

It took everything in you to maintain composure, thankful for Will reminding you to slow it down whenever you found yourself moving your hips faster, his hands pressing and digging into your flesh to force you to keep the steady rhythm that he started.

The slick that already saturated your thong teased you the more you ground your aching core against him, feeling his hard cock straining against the material that contained it, the excitement and anticipation of having him buried inside you intensifying by the second.

The skin on your chin and lips were already raw from how long you had been kissing, the steamy makeout session only made better by dry humping each other until you both were on the verge of finishing how you were, your whines and moans growing while your movements decreased to be as light as possible in an attempt to prolong this intoxicating tease.

Will kissed and sucked at your neck and chest, having already exposed more of you by tugging the neckline of your shirt to the side with eager hands, his breath fanning over your sweat-coated skin when he sighed deeply through his nose.

“Fuck me, you’re gonna make me cum in my shorts.”

He huffed out a laugh, but his admission only spurred you on more, grinding harder on him until his humour faded out and was replaced by ferocity, growling as he pressed his lips against yours again, the sweat that saturated his beard transferring onto you.

The storm was still going strong in the background, sheets of rain pummeling the house and striking the window with a sound that mimicked waves crashing the shoreline, the nerves you felt about it shifting into a frenzied arousal that you directed onto the man beneath you.

Your hands struggled to get under his shirt, the material so stuck to his stomach from his sweat that the skin on your palms dragged along his abdomen, the tackiness making it difficult for you to peel it up over his head.

It hit the floor with a slap, the weight of it evidence of how much the heat and you were affecting him, and you smiled against his lips at the sound of his breath hitching as you slid your hands down his chest to land on his solid pecs while your lower half continued to torture him.

You touched him everywhere you could reach, smoothing down his stomach and back up again, cradling the sides of his neck and then over his shoulders, and finally up to his hair where you let your fingers rake through it until you knew you had made it stick up in a spiky mess, deepening your kiss as the sensation made him press harder into your mouth.

The window rattled from the force of the winds, disrupting you enough that you broke your kiss and turned to look at it, the thought of it possibly shattering filling you with worry as you were reminded of your vulnerability.

Will placed his hand on your chin, his thumb smoothing it while his other fingers tucked up under your jawline, guiding your head back to face him where he silently assured you that everything was fine, his eyes reflecting a surety and vow of protection that no amount of reinforcements on the house could ever match. He adjusted the pad of his thumb so it sat on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to part it from the upper one, and it surprised you to see how quickly his expression changed, his eyes darkened so much by lust in a matter of seconds that the look in them rivaled the clouds spiraling outside.

He kissed you desperately, his hands falling to your waist where he lifted your shirt upward, only pausing the union of your mouths long enough to remove it from you, your braless chest grazing against his when you leaned into each other again.

Goosebumps broke out across your skin despite the humidity clinging heavily to the air around you, your nipples hardening and feeling incredibly sensitive each time his body brushed against them, your needy moans pouring into his mouth the more his hands roamed over your mostly bare form.

You could hardly handle it anymore, desperate to feel him deep inside you, moving your hips back slightly so you could access him, tearing the front of his shorts down where you reached in for his cock. Will was helpful, lifting his ass off the couch so his shorts could slide down his thighs in order to expose all of himself, his expression serious with brows furrowed and knitted tightly together as he watched you grip him in your hand and began stroking him tip to base, smearing the precum leaking from it all over his silky shaft.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you back to sit directly on top of his groin, guiding your motions as you rocked your covered pussy on his bare cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he hissed, holding your skirt up so he was able to watch you grind along his length, pressing his cock flat against his lower stomach where drips of cum spilled onto the smattering of flaxen pubes.

A slow sigh of approval passed your lips as you continued to languidly ride him, your eyes closing as you lost yourself in the sensation and moaning when you felt Will capture one of your breasts in his mouth and spin his tongue around your nipple.

You could feel him growing more impatient, his lips moving faster along your chest where he eagerly worshiped your tits, his fingers clawing at the thin material of your skirt as if he was ready to rip it to shreds to get at you, and his breathing became more laboured, his chest rising and falling quickly while the exhalations from his nose ghosted against the crests of your breasts.

“I need in there,” he growled, his head shaking to the side a couple of times like there was no way he could handle another second not being inside you, his fingers slipping into the crotch of your saturated panties to pull them to the side before running his index and middle fingers through your slick.

Your mouth pooled with saliva as he drove his long digits in and out of you in broad strokes before bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean, his other hand angling his cock to line up to part your folds while you lifted yourself up on your knees to allow him access to enter you.

You sank onto him slowly, letting him fill you inch by inch until you encased him completely, his blue eyes locked with yours with an appreciation held in them that made your heart beat faster.

Remaining still, you leaned forward and kissed him, your hands holding onto either side of his face, deepening your kiss as you relished in the fullness he provided without moving.

When you parted, Will gave you a soft smile that made you melt, his fingers coming up to trace along the side of your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, the surety in his words clear, although his expression was a thrilling mix of adoration and something waiting to be unleashed, the suspense of experiencing either rough or gentle treatment exhilarating you.

“I love you too, Will,” you breathed, not daring to look away from him.

A strong gale slapped the side of the house, reminding you that the hurricane blasting outside wasn’t to be forgotten, but Will immediately drew your attention back to him, his hands smoothing up your back to hold you against him in a firm, but soft way, his lips pressing onto your shoulder and across your collarbone to your neck, alternating between kisses and nips that told you his control was beginning to falter.

You started moving on him, riding him in careful waves that felt so incredible you weren’t sure how long you could keep it up, knowing that whether you moved slow or fast, you would be reaching your climax in no time.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, resting his back against the couch to watch you, locking his hands on your hips to force you down hard each time you lifted yourself up and almost off his cock.

He was completely enamoured, looking at you as if anything could be happening outside that window and he wouldn’t care to notice, his eyes dancing over your form in a struggle to choose which part of you he wanted to see the most.

Finding the perfect spot that made you thrum with ecstasy, you rolled your hips and bounced up and down, your swollen clit hitting the base of his cock in a shattering blow each time, your skin tingling from head to toe as your orgasm built.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” Will asked, his words breathy as he admired you sliding on him.

“Yes, fuck!”

Will thrusted up into you a few times, your cries growing loud enough they almost drowned out the noise of the hurricane, your nails digging into the flesh on his shoulder as you approached your high.

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Will interrupted, though his voice was soothing. “Not yet.”

His eyes were big and bright despite the dark grey that had fully consumed the room, and although you were taken aback by him edging you, you couldn't deny the trust you had in him to look after you.

“Sit down,” he ordered, nodding to the space on the couch beside him as helped move your legs off of his.

Will stood and removed his shorts that sat halfway down his legs, stepping out of them before moving to kneel on the floor in front of you, his thumbs smoothing on your knees in a way that contradicted the way he forcefully pressed on them to encourage you to spread your legs for him.

He kissed his way up the inside of your right thigh, a low growl coming from him as he inhaled deeply when he reached your core, and then moved over to your other thigh, peppering wet kisses slowly away from where you needed him most until you were squirming where you sat.

“Will…” you breathed, shifting your hips to try to bring yourself closer to him.

“Let’s get this off,” he grunted, his patience thinning as your skirt was preventing him from taking everything he wanted.

He reached behind you, his fingers easily finding the zipper and pulled it down, keeping steely eye contact while wiggling it off your hips with the help of you shifting from one cheek to the other until he peeled the flowy fabric off of your body.

The creases on his forehead were pronounced as he continued to look up at you as he tugged at the waist of your thong, sliding it down to expose your dripping cunt that his eyes were now fixed on as he guided the wet piece of cotton to your feet.

Will hooked his arms under your legs, letting them relax on his biceps, his tattooed forearms wrapping around your thighs to hold you securely. He pulled you toward him, bringing you to the edge of the cushion so you were flush with his face, his nose brushing your folds before his tongue swiped through the mess he had already made.

A long moan toppled out of you as you raked your fingers through his hair, lifting your hips slightly to get even more contact with his talented tongue that licked at you slowly and precisely in an effort to wreck you.

He picked you apart minute after agonizing minute, continuously bringing you to the peak only to stop you there each time, the violent storm outside going ignored and nothing compared to the one raging inside you.

As always, Will was completely focused on his mission, working you with the expertise he had come to master over all the hours spent learning your body, knowing the exact amount of pressure placed on the perfect spot that would send you soaring.

Not once did his hands leave their hold on your legs, completely unselfish in his art and not even considering touching himself, his generosity and the thought of his leaking, rigid cock left waiting for attention adding to your demise.

You pleaded over and over, his name like a song with the storm as your instrumental background, desperate for release as you ground against his face, your heels digging into his waist as he in turn dug his mouth harder into your cunt.

He had you where he wanted you, and pushing your tolerance a little further, Will unraveled one of his arms from around your leg and slipped his hand between the sofa and you, fingering you slowly while he sucked at your over-sensitive clit, the precise hook of his fingers making you clench around them like a vice.

And then he stopped.

You cursed loudly, whining and squirming as he sat up and looked at you with a satisfied expression, his face glistening from your pleasure.

A stray branch from a tree flew by and struck the house, drawing both of your attention to the window, but Will was quick to recover where your focus belonged.

He stood, a slight hitch as he straightened his long legs, his body that had been put through so much physical turmoil over his years of service known to cramp up if left idle for too long.

Will gripped at your knee, pushing it toward the back of the couch so your body was forced to spin and lay down, crawling between your spread legs until he was positioned over top of you with his arms braced on either side of your shoulders.

He kissed you intensely, moaning into your mouth as his cock nudged where he had left you aching for relief, savouring you like he had gone without the press of your lips on his for days.

His hand found yours, interlacing your fingers as he brought your arm above your head, laying his body completely on yours so he covered you entirely, protecting you with all he had.

He was heavy, but comforting, his weight assuring and a reminder of his strength and unwavering love for you, and at the same time it came as a warning of the crushing power he could choose to have, like he was a hurricane all in himself and you were in his path of destruction.

Will paused in kissing you as he adjusted his hips, looking down between your bodies to watch his cock easily push through your tight folds, a shaky breath exhaling from his parted lips as his brows knitted tightly together at the sensation of being back in your embrace.

You looked to the side to see out the window as another blast of wind surged against the house, only to have Will squeeze your hand that he still held in his, his voice calm and even.

“Hey, focus on me,” he ordered, his eyes a turbulent blue when you met them. “Look at me.”

You nodded, holding his gaze as he began to move inside you, the feel of him stroking your walls in long, slow drags making it difficult to keep your eyes open.

Your free hand ran along the flexing muscles of his back, clawing at his sweat-coated skin as he found a pace that brought you right back to the point he had left you at more than once, your head tipping back into the couch as you were dragged into the throes of pleasure even more intensely than before.

“You’re safe with me, sweetheart,” Will promised, his voice intoxicating and comforting all at once. “I’ve got you, you can relax…”

He spoke against your neck before moving his mouth back to yours, kissing you gently before probing his tongue in, the tempo of his thrusts deepening now that he knew you were succumbing to everything he was giving you.

He moved on you like the wind moved the rain, pushing and forceful, seeking his own release as he rolled against you with fervor and breathy moans were exchanged between your mouths as you chased your highs together.

Your whole body tensed, convulsing and giving up all control as he fucked you through the shattering orgasm made even more powerful thanks to how he had edged you, feeling yourself release on his shaft that alternated between being buried deep inside you and pulling out almost completely.

Will pressed his mouth hard on yours before breaking the seal of your lips, allowing his laboured breaths and rough grunts to sound out as he fought to follow right behind you, the cadence of your contracting walls coaxing out his end.

You could feel him pulse inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed that was always generous in its quantity, his pace remaining steady though his rhythm began to break.

Drops of sweat from his brow landed on your chest, his harsh movements shaking the accumulated moisture off of him, continuing to buck into you erratically until he had nothing left to give.

He crashed against your lips again, transferring even more sweat from his efforts onto your skin, his hand releasing yours where he brought it to your head and smoothed it over your hair, kissing you slowly but purposefully as he gradually let the rolling of his hips fade out.

After a minute, Will pulled out of you, reaching for some tissues out of the box on the side table and handed them to you, taking some for himself for you to both clean up. He stood with a grunt, looking down at you with an extended hand to take the soiled tissues from you, the muscles in his cheeks flinching wildly as he clenched his teeth together.

Will paused for a minute, looking out at the tempest scene, all of his veins raised as blood pumped strongly through them, his muscles accentuated beautifully from his efforts, and you couldn’t help but fall even further in love for him, his face stoic and almost unreadable, but only you knew how much emotion lingered beneath.

He sighed as he moved again, stretching his weary limbs while stalking to the kitchen, and you wondered if he had any idea how much you worshiped him even as he did the simplest of things.

You laid there listening to him rummage around, looking out the window at the ever-present hurricane, the room almost completely dark as night had successfully consumed the sun along with the storm.

Will returned with two glasses of water and set one on the table, passing the other to you.

“Drink up, sweetheart,” he drawled, smirking as he spoke. “The eye hasn't even passed over yet, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

The wink he sent you went straight to your core, your anticipation of whatever else he had planned for you enticing you and almost had you hoping this hurricane would last for days.

You returned his smile as you brought the glass to your lips, sipping it as you watched him sit on the couch beside you and grab the lighter off the coffee table, flicking it on so the warm flame illuminated his dewy, gorgeous features in the otherwise dreary dark. He lit the two candles that you had placed there earlier before grabbing his own glass and downing the contents of it, seeing the way his throat moved as he swallowed making you thirsty for more.

He sighed when he finished drinking, running his hand over his face to rid it of the sweat, and looked back over to you still laying where he had left you.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling up your naked form until they landed on yours.

You shook your head ‘no’, giving him a sated smile, thinking how you would happily give up air conditioning and electricity permanently if it meant sharing more moments like this with him.

Will gave a nod and laid down beside you, helping you shift so there was room for him to lay with his front against your back, spooning you comfortably where you both were able to face the window.

His arm draped over your waist and tucked under yours, his hand cupping your breast, and tangling his legs with yours, brought his groin as close to your bum as he could.

He hummed against the back of your neck, his nose brushing your damp skin, and you smiled when you felt he was hard again, his cock pressing between your cheeks.

“You’re going to outlast this hurricane,” you giggled, squirming so your bum rubbed along his shaft, making him growl against your skin.

“Damn right, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand running down your stomach and around to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart where he slowly pushed inside your tight walls.

He kissed your neck, the sensation of his beard on your skin making you moan and shiver, his hand returning to your breast where he tugged and pinched at your peaked nipple.

“We're going to need to pace ourselves, here,” he warned in your ear, beginning the slow drag of his cock out of you before slamming it back in, the conflict he felt between wanting to keep you safe and seeking to destroy you playing in his mind.

---

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Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

#will miller #will miller smut #will miller x female reader #triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller x reader #will 'ironhead' miller #william miller #william 'ironhead' miller #triple frontier fic #will miller fic #charlie hunnam characters

[seresinhangmanjake]

That's Definitely a Name

dad!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: You need to name your newborn son and your daughter helps.

Notes/warnings: this is inspired by an ask about the moments after their son's birth. I wanted to do it with Oh, Baby, too, so I am doing Oh, Baby first, and then Signed Away. Mention of pregnancy, birth, that's it I think.

Words: 835

Part of the Oh, Baby Universe

-

"He looks like you."

You snort, but it's weak from your exhaustion. "Well it's only fair," you say. "Eve is nearly your clone."

"That's true." Jake chuckles before he presses a kiss to your temple. It’s a long kiss, and soft, and conveys once more what was earlier expressed with words: “I love you, Honey. You’re so amazing. How did you just do this? How have you done this twice?

That last question has also crossed your mind in the twenty minutes since birthing your son. Twice. You’ve done this twice. But this time, your brain isn’t full of a humming fuzziness in the aftermath as it was with Eve. You’re so alert and aware of your daughter waiting outside the room with her grandmother, of Jake wrapped around you, of your new son swaddled in your arms. 

“What do you think we should name this little man?” Jake asks. “We never settled on one.”

During the months of your pregnancy, you’d shuffled through many names for your son, but none of them seemed to fit quite right. For Eve, it was a no-brainer. Without Jake in her life, it was important to you that her name connect to her father in some way, which was achieved by choosing the name of his grandmother. For your son, though, there isn’t someone you can positively name him after without some degree of resulting issue. After your mother’s fit over Jake a few years ago, your father didn’t make the effort to stay involved in your life, and Jake’s is horrid, so they were never added to the list of possibilities. Jake feels that making the little boy a junior will be too confusing, unable to let go of the image of you irritated for some reason and calling out the matching name causing unnecessary anxiety for both he and his son when you are actually only mad at one of them. You tossed around the idea of using a name from your group of friends, but you quickly realized that of the five other men on Jake’s team, four of them would take serious offense if their name wasn’t chosen while the other one would be so sweet as to simply thank you and your husband for even being considered. They didn’t last on the list for more than a day.

“We weren’t given enough time,” you decide as you trace your finger down the line of his tiny nose. “He came too early.”

“I don't think one week before your due date qualifies as too early,” Jake says, snickering. “Let's be real, Honey, we were slacking from indecisiveness.”

“Well, since we can’t figure it out maybe we should just let Eve pick a name.”

You immediately miss the warmth of his arms when Jake pulls back and shifts to the side of the bed to look you in the eye. “Now wait a minute, Honey. Think about what you're saying.” His eyes are wide and his hands gesture wildly with his attempt to snuff out your idea. “I love you and I love our baby girl, but do you really want to risk our son being named something crazy like, I don't know, Meeko? You know she loves that weird raccoon from ‘Pocahontas’,” he says. “And what happens when we don’t take her suggestion because we cannot do that to our son, hmm? This is not a particularly good time for us to be snubbed by our daughter.”

You release a light scoff. “Oh, she wouldn't do that to us, or her brother.”

“She absolutely would,” Jake says with a slight quirk of his lips. His hands fall back to his sides. “Honey, if we truly let her pick, ninety-nine percent chance we have a Disney critter sidekick name for our son.”

You look down at your newborn as you consider Jake’s concern. Meeko Seresin? You internally chuckle. No, that would not do. But your girl is smart and neither you nor Jake have been able to come to a decision on your own. You see no real harm in asking. Not to mention, it would be a prime opportunity to have Eve feel more included now that she’s no longer the only child in her parent’s lives. And if her suggestions are life-ruining bully-targeting disasters, then you’ll deal with her reaction from being denied later. 

—

“Teddy Bear!” Eve bursts out as she sits tucked between you and the rail of the hospital bed.

A sigh mixed with a barely-there chuckle falls from your husband’s lips.

“Baby girl, you want to name your brother Teddy Bear?” Jake asks, glancing at the amused smile you’re struggling to hold back before returning his eyes to his daughter. 

Taking the question very seriously, Eve’s face loses all expression, her stare unwavering against her father’s. “Yes.”

“After your teddy bear?”

“Yes.”

Jake runs a hand through his blond locks. The other rests on his hip. “Wouldn't you like to think about it for another second?”

“No.”

—

Teddy “Bear” Jacob Seresin

(More Bear and Eve) Digital Daggers: Oh, Babies by @mamachasesmayhem

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x fem!reader #dad!jake seresin #dad!jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction

Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off

I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.

Enjoy

💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄

Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.

Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.

As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.

Her tanned butt cheeks.

Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.

He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.

Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.

He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,

“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.

“Who’s that?”

“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”

“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.

“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.

Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”

“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”

Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”

“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”

Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”

“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”

“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”

“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.

“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.

“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.

“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.

“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.

“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.

They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.

“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.

“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.

“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.

He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.

“Are they?” she sighs with relief.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.

“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.

He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”

“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”

“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”

“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”

“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”

“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.

“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.

Gigi moans at his slight pressure.

“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.

“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”

“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”

“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.

“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.

“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”

“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”

He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.

“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.

“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.

He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.

“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.

“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.

“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.

“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.

A more mature option; interesting.

Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”

“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”

“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”

Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.

“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.

“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”

He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.

It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.

He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.

Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.

“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“

Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.

Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.

He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.

She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.

“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.

Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”

“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”

Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.

Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.

“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.

“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.

She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.

“Sorta.”

“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”

“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.

“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.

“Hold me, please?” she whispers.

“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.

“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.

He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.

Elvis is quite good with his tongue.

He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.

It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.

He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.

She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.

“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.

Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.

He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.

Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.

“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.

“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”

“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.

“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.

She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”

“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.

She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.

“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.

She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.

“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”

“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“

“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”

“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.

“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“

“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”

“You sure? I-“

“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”

“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.

God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.

“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.

Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”

“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.

Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.

The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.

She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“

Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.

She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“

Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.

Eventually there is no more.

Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.

“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.

“It was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”

His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”

Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.

“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.

“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.

She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.

She asks him if he needs a drink.

“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.

Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.

“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.

“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.

“Promise.” he repeats.

“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.

“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.

“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.

He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”

As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.

“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”

There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.

“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.

Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.

She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”

Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.

The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.

She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.

Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.

She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.

Cheap drug store shit.

“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”

“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.

It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.

“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.

“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.

“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”

Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.

Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.

She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.

Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.

“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.

“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

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@powerofelvis

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #70’s elvis #Elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis photos #elvis the king #70s elvis #elvis fans #Elvis smut #austin elvis imagine #big daddy Elvis #big daddy elvis fic #but then…Gigi

[tumbleweed-run]

The Reluctant Bride pt 2

(18+, explicit) Kinktober 2023 Day 6: Dub Con

Part One

Part Two

Astarion stood straighter, offense etched into his face. “I understand I don’t have the appeal of Tav but I thought-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Gale interrupted shaking his head. He had to pause and lean against the wall as the movement brought on a wave of dizziness. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tav sounded stricken. 

“It’s not your doing, darling,” Astarion threw over his shoulder but his eyes were still pinned to Gale. 

Gale sighed, heavily, the reality of the moment and its consequences crashed down on him. “I meant,” he began again, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that this isn’t how I wanted… this.”

And that was that. 

It wasn’t some statement of desperation, a lie pulled from his lips in a moment of panic. No, he wanted Astarion. He’d thought numerous times, especially in the last month, of how they’d bring their odd dynamic full circle. He’d never been sure of just how truthful Astarion’s flirtations were and wanted to be sure the vampire wouldn’t agree to it just to please Tav. Gale needed to be sure, for both their sakes, that they both wanted this. 

Truthfully, his odd attraction to Astarion had begun long before they culled the goblin camp. 

When Gale was finally brave enough to reopen his eyes, he found Astarion staring at him. His face was closed, mask that had been endearingly absent the last few weeks, back in place. Gale felt his stomach sink, perhaps he’d misread the situation all along. 

His eyes dropped to the floor because it didn’t matter. Astarion was right, if this was the only answer to their predicament, they would have to go through with it. The curse didn’t care whether either of them was a willing participant. In fact, judging by the name, that was the exact point. 

Astarion reached out and grabbed Gale’s arm. Gale stared at the point of contact. Without the fabric between the touch was both a balm and a stimulant. It felt almost as if his fever had begun breaking instantly. 

“It’s not,” Astarion began, drawing Gale’s eyes up to his face, “how I’d wanted things to happen either.”

Gale’s eyes roved over Astarion’s face, searching for an indication as to what he meant. He realized quickly that he was just going to have to ask. “I need you to be more specific.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and sighed. “I mean I would have been willing to try this,” he waved his hand wildly, “long ago. But seeing as you near exploded Halsin just for suggestion something similar, what hope did I have? But now that seems a bit out of our hands.”

Gale attempted to process this new information, his fever sluggish brain making it difficult. “So this, if we do this-”

“We are.”

“If we do this,” Gale repeated, “I’m not… you won’t be hurt?”

For a brief second Astarion’s eyes sparkled, remnants of his flirtatious nature clawing its way to the surface. But just as quickly as it was there, Gale watched it transform into something more earnest. 

“I can’t say I’m entirely thrilled given the ‘do it or die’ nature but,” Astarion said, “I guess this is certainly one way to get passed the awkward stage.”

Gale nodded, finally accepting their situation. When he glanced passed Astarion’s should he saw Tav watching them both, eyes wide. She was chewing on her lip. When her eye caught his, she smiled. It was a tired but hopeful thing and went a long way to buoy Gale’s spirits. 

He turned his attention back to Astarion. “How should we… continue?” He asked not liking how unsure he still sounded.

“Well, first things, I think we should lose this,” with that Astarion plucked the towel from around Gale’s waist, letting it crumple to the floor. 

It was truly a sign of how badly this curse was affecting him that Gale didn’t protest his sudden nakedness. 

“Then,” Astarion continued, “I think perhaps you should go and sit back on the bed and allow me to help with that.” He looked down very pointedly at Gale’s erection which hadn’t flagged in the least despite having had no attention paid to it for some time. 

He looked hungry in a way that had Gale briefly wondering if he would leave this night with all his blood intact. 

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure? I mean we don’t know if that will work and beside how will you… I mean I can also, I have, but…” Gale allowed himself to trail off as he realized he had no real end to his ramblings. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow at that revelation. “Are you saying you wish to just get to fucking me?” He challenged. 

Gale sagged against the wall again and dropped his head. “Actually it might be best the other way,” he admitted. 

“And why is that?” Astarion sounded unnervingly interested. 

Gale cleared his throat raising his head to risk a glance at Astarion before looking away again. “We tried…” he trailed off unable to finish. He wasn’t ashamed or really bother, but it was an odd thing to talk about with someone who hadn’t been involved. 

“Oh,” Astarion’s voiced pitched up and he was beginning to sound delighted. “Your fingers or a toy?” That question was thrown backward at Tav. 

“My fingers,” she answered quickly. 

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Astarion drawled before grasping Gale’s chin, forcing him to look at him, “but my fingers and my cock are larger than anything she’s stuck in you. So while I’m not opposed, I need to make sure we won’t cause you any undue harm.”

Gale attempted to nod. 

“The easiest way to do that, and allow us to build an allusion that this is at all consensual, is if I do that while you are distracted,” the last word positively dripped from the vampire’s mouth. 

Gale swallowed harshly at the visuals being provided for him. He was beginning to realize the effects of Astarion’s words were not entirely to blame on the curse. 

“Gale,” Tav called. She’d shifted so she was sitting in the center of the bed, gesturing for him to come join her. 

Gale slid away from Astarion and went to the bed. Before sitting, he leaned over and kissed Tav who returned it enthusiastically despite how swollen her lips were. When he did sit he found that Astarion had pulled off his shirt and had made his way back across the room. 

“Lay back in her lap,” Astarion directed him. 

It’d been less than a minutes since they’d touched and Gale was already feeling the consequences. His head had begun spinning again, just enough that he was willing to follow Astarion’s demands without argument. As he laid back the top of his head brushed against something cool and wet. The guilt reared its head again when he realized it was the rag he’d given Tav in the hopes of calming some of the pain she’d surely been feeling. 

“I’m sorry,” he told her shifting until he was comfortable. 

Tav shook her head, hair falling loose about her shoulders. “Don’t be,” she insisted, “this is my fault.”

Gale reached up and took her chin in his hand, making sure she was looking at him. “This isn’t your fault,” he told her, “I was wrong to try and blame you.”

Tav’s eyes searched his and then she nodded, Gale could tell though, that her burden hadn’t lifted entirely. 

“We can assign blame later,” Astarion spoke up now, standing between Gale’s legs.

Gale looked up at him but whatever he meant to say died on his lips as Astarion gently rested one hand on his leg. The wave of relief was almost instant and Gale found he was irritated at it. 

With an alarming amount of grace given the predicament they were in, Astarion sunk to his knees. Gale tried to follow him down but the position became to awkward to track. Instead he rested his head back again into Tav’s lap, one of her hands coming up automatically to stroke his hair back from his face. 

He moaned when Astarion gripped his cock. The other man stroked him a few times and then without much prelude pulled Gale into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Gale moaned as his cock almost immediately butted against the back of Astarion’s throat. 

Astarion was unlawfully skilled as he sucked Gale down. The lack of need for oxygen translated to no breaks or moments for Gale to catch his breath. He truly had to focus to keep his hips from bucking up into the vampire’s mouth. He wanted to, so badly it was bordering on delirium.

As if sensing this Astarion pulled off and stood again. Leaning over him Astarion maintained a grip on his thigh in order to keep the contact. 

“Before you forget how to speak,” he waved his fingers in front of Gale’s face. 

Gale muttered the spell to coat Astarion’s fingers in oil. Well it had been intended to be just in fingers but he was too tired, too done to truly focus and enough appeared that some of it dripped onto his chest. 

Gale did not miss the glance Astarion snuck up at Tav, something passing between them that he was also too tired to try and decipher. 

“There’s oil in the dresser,” Tav said softly, fingers carding through Gale’s hair even though she was speaking to Astarion, “if you need more.”

Astarion gave a short nod before disappearing from Gale’s vision once more. 

No warning this time when Astarion’s mouth found him. Gale’s hips bucked upwards, unable to maintain his composure any longer. 

Astarion’s forearm braced across his hips then and all but pinned him down to the bed. 

Gale almost didn’t notice the finger as it pressed into him, mind preoccupied with the pleasure he was receiving. Dimly though he realized Astarion was right, Tav’s fingers were decidedly smaller. 

As Astarion worked his finger inside, expertly finding the spot that left Gale shouting, he continued drawing his cock into his mouth. He was drinking Gale down as if trying to swallow all of it. Gale was certain he was down the other man’s throat and the thought left him moaning, feet desperately trying to find purchase. Astarion held him fast, not allowing Gale to get any leverage. 

Above Gale, Tav was hushing him, or perhaps that was the sound of his blood swiftly vacating his brain. He couldn’t be sure any longer. 

Astarion had breeched him with two fingers now, pistoning them in and out of Gale. Each time making contact until Gael’s vision was devolving into spots of stars. 

He desperately hoped he’d come like this. If he did, he would be more than willing to get on his knees for Astarion. His hopes seemed to be for naught though. It didn’t matter how close he felt he was, there seemed to be just something out of reach keeping him from tipping over. 

In the last coherent vestiges of his brain Gale began to panic, wondering if this wasn’t the solution. Worried that even if they fucked there would be no release and he would die this way. 

“Gale,” Astarion snapped pulling his mouth off of him, “you’ve got to relax.”

“Shhh,” Tav urged him leading Gale to realize he was near hyperventilating. “It’ll be okay,” she soothed running a hand down the side of his face, “we’ve got you.”

Astarion’s fingers pulled out of him and Gale would later deny the whimper that was ripped from him. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Astarion announced, once more leaning over him, eyes desperately trying to catch on to his. “I worry if we let this go any longer you might have a stroke,” Gale could no longer tell if that was hyperbole or the truth. 

Both Astarion and Tav shifted him backward just a little until he was able to brace his feet at the edge of the bed. Then there was a brief loss of contact as Astarion worked his trousers off and Gale burned so hot Tav’s hand felt like ice on his skin. 

Astarion crawled up onto the bed between Gale’s planted feet. With little warning, he began pressing into Gale. If it hurt he couldn’t tell, the wave of relief, of calm overrode any other sensation he might have been feeling. 

“Shit,” Astarion panted above him, clearly just as affected by the sensation as Gale. 

Astarion doubled over as he began thrusting in and out of him. His hands coming to rest on either side of Gale’s arms, head hanging down so his face was lost to him. When one particular thrust slammed into that spot again Gale’s back bowed up off the bed and he gripped Astarion’s arms trying to pull him impossibly closer. 

A few more thrusts and Astarion all but dropped onto Gale’s chest. One hand hooked around behind Gale’s thigh, attempting to find leverage again. His cock was now trapped between them, rutting against Astarion’s stomach with each thrust. 

There were teeth at his throat, specifically fangs. Gale arched his neck on instinct rather than some desire to be bitten, but Astarion took the motion as permission and bit. 

The pain was sharp as it pushed him over the edge.

Gale cried out, back once again arching, as he came coating both of their chests in his spend. His arms shifted their hold, body moving again on instinct, and all but trapped Astarion against him. The vampire groaned, a wet sound, as he drank and Gale could feel his cock pulsing inside of him. Astarion’s hips were still save for small shudders as he spilled inside of Gale. Still drinking all the while. 

Gale was only vaguely aware of Tav’s voice and then Astarion’s mouth leaving his neck. The removal of his fangs worse than the insertion.

The next time he blinked he realized Astarion had slipped out of him, but hadn’t managed to go far. Gale allowed his arms to drop, effectively freeing him, but Astarion stayed laying against his chest. It was then that he became vaguely aware that room seemed to be returning to a normal temperature and his heart was slowly working down to a more livable rhythm.

They remained that way, Tav’s hands gently carding through both of their hair, until the sticky feeling on Gale’s chest became uncomfortable. Only then did Astarion push off of Gale complete, dropping onto the bed next to him. When Gale was finally able to shift he saw a strange dazed look on the vampire’s face. 

He reached out a hand and gently touched Astarion’s cheek. Astarion started, eyes darting immediately up to his. 

“I’m sorry,” was what fell out of Gale’s mouth instead of any of the number of things that he had considered saying.

Astarion shook his head, not managing to dislodge Gale’s hand entirely. “You no longer taste like bile,” he said, deflecting. 

For now, Gale was left with nothing to do but allow it. 

#gale x astarion #bloodweave #gale x tav #astarion x tav #bloodweave x tav #dub con #kinktober 2023 #kinktober 2023 dubcon

[abeautylives]

Maybe One More Day

a/n: This was a little Beach Josh scenario I had cooked up and it got wildly out of control. Oops.

This is set in the summer of 2019, refer to the picture (no seriously, refer to the picture)

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: just under 5k

summary: Josh has been your best friend for years, and a short beach vacation with the group is about to take a turn.

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, language, some friendly fluff, allusions to sexual situations, graphic sexual content, unprotected penetrative sex, some pining? unrequited… ya know what, just read it

update: read part 2 here

You bury your toes into the sand as the late afternoon sun beats down on them, the only part of your body not currently shaded by the beach umbrella planted between your chair and Jita’s. Jake's girlfriend is stretched out beside you, curves on perfect display and Sam’s girlfriend is to her right, looking quite like the model that she is. You always find yourself here, rounding out the group to make it an even number, though you’re not anyone’s girlfriend.

Smiling to yourself, you watch as Sam and Jake pass a soccer ball back and forth over the dips and mounds that make up the shoreline, and laugh with the other girls when Jake rounds off a kick that has Sam diving, landing face first in the sand.

In front of you, laying stomach down across a beach towel that’s longer than he is tall, is Josh.

Josh. How would you describe Josh?

Small, quirky, adorable. Probably one of your best friends.

You’ve known the guys for what feels like forever now but it’s closer to almost four years, since you all were practically still kids. Shit, Sam and Danny were actually kids. Growing close with the twins had been easy, and watching them flourish into men and talented musicians has been a pleasure. You feel pretty fortunate that they’ve let you tag along on their journey, which has included meeting girlfriends, and subsequently never talking to them again when they became ex-girlfriends. The group you have now though feels solid, the girls are fun… but you’ll always kind of be one of the guys.

Toes wiggling, sand shifting around and between them, you look down to watch your pastel toenails peek through the surface. Periwinkle. You’d asked his opinion and Josh had chosen the color because he liked the word, then he’d insisted you let him paint them during “film night” the night before you all had left for the beach house.

Lifting your gaze to him, you find him propped up on his elbows, also watching the purpley-blue polish poke through the granules. Never one to miss an opportunity, you kick that same foot out, spraying sand over the top corner of his towel and jerking him violently out of his trance.

“What the hell Y/N!”

“Oops, sorrryyy Joshua!” You’re giggling at him as you pull your foot back and into the shade. “How are you not frying right now? You probably need more sunscreen, your face is red.”

A pink tint is spread over his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, but he swears to you that he just put some on twenty minutes ago. “Can you do my back though?”

With a dramatic sigh and not without making a spectacle out of lifting yourself from your chair, you grab the sunscreen from your bag and walk to stand over him, your shadow stretching across his body. “You gonna stand up?”

“Just come down here, straddle my butt.”

“Absolutely not,” you feign offense.

“You’re absolutely no fun, my dear,” he jests as he pops up into a crouch then stands, lifting his arms to stretch out the stiffness from leaning on his elbows for too long. You avert your eyes from watching the way his skin moves over his torso as he brings his arms back down and turns his back to you. The sunscreen is rubbed into his warm skin as quickly as possible before you ask him to do yours in return.

When your back is facing him and your hair is gathered and pulled over your shoulder, he squirts it directly onto you from the tube.

“Shit it’s cold!” You jump but he keeps you close with his hands on your shoulders before he starts to rub the lotion in.

He only chuckles at your discomfort, “Sorry princess.” He knows you hate when they call you that. The twins both do it, to get on your nerves, because you’re the exact opposite of a princess. You’ve always held your own, especially with two teenage boys having become your closest friends years ago.

Josh knows that you hate it even more right now, with his hands rubbing firm circles into your skin, his fingers tucked under the straps of your bikini top in front of all of your friends, his family. He moves his hands lower, below the band of your top, to rub the remaining sunscreen into your lower back. The tips of his fingers dip under the top edge of your bikini bottoms and they linger there for just a beat too long before you’re scolding him quietly over your shoulder.

“Josh. That’s enough.”

He drops his hands from you completely and you turn your face back to assess the group’s reactions, but none of them are looking at you. Jake and Sam have laid out on their own towels, Jita is reading and Joy looks like she may have fallen asleep under her umbrella.

“Hey, I’m sorry… Do you wanna go walk down the beach? Would be a shame to waste this fresh sunscreen, let’s find some seashells.” He offers the olive branch with innocence in his voice as you turn back to face him. The look on his face is sheepish, you think to yourself that he looks so boyish, young and guiltless. His curls are grown out and a little wild from the salty breeze and seawater you’ve been living in for the last three days. His skin is glowing, tanned from the sun. How could I say no?

“Yeah, let’s do it. I need more sunscreen though.”

“Want some help?” His smile is full of mischief, his top row of teeth on full display with his bottom lip tucked beneath them, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Shut up dummy,” you're smiling with him, laughing at his quip, which is exactly what he wanted. After you feel sufficiently protected from the sun's rays, you call out to the rest of the group. “We’re going for a walk! Anyone wanna join?” You’re met with mumbles and murmurs, an overall “no, go ahead”.

Josh walks ahead of you toward the water and lets the break of the small but steady waves wash over his feet when he reaches it. You stand by his side and do the same when you reach him.

“It’s calm today.”

“It’s perfect. The waves kinda kicked my ass yesterday,” you both snicker a little, remembering Josh getting tossed by one particularly rogue wave that had scooped him off his feet. He hadn’t been able to touch the bottom when he resurfaced. “Let’s walk?”

Nodding your head in agreement, you head south down the beach. Stopping every once in a while to examine a shell, you deem the majority of them unworthy of keeping and move along, chatting easily with each other. You know one another well and conversation has always been comfortable. You pause suddenly, bending down to take a look at a shell that you think has potential and picking it up to show Josh. He disagrees, thinks that the perfect shell is still waiting for you further up the shore. As you agree with him and toss it into the break, you look past him to gauge how far you’ve walked. He glances back to evaluate the distance as well, then turns back to you with a grin. He moves to keep walking and as you fall in step with him, you brush his knuckles with your own. Before your arm can swing forward he grasps your hand, intertwines your fingers, and brings them up to his lips.

After placing a kiss to the back of your hand, he keeps it against his mouth and says, “Thanks for taking a walk with me babe.”

“Of course,” you turn and flash him a beaming smile as you keep strolling, linked together by your joined hands, you think that all of these strangers must assume you’re a couple.

“It’s been difficult to get you alone in that house. Someone is always around, next time we should go somewhere, just the two of us.”

It sounds nice, lovely even, but, “That would seem awfully suspicious, don’t you think?”

“I guess, but… Y/N why don’t we just tell them?”

You and Josh have been sleeping together for maybe six months, no, probably eight by now. It’s been extremely fun, and sneaky, and as far as you can tell it hasn’t changed your friendship at all. That’s all you are, good friends who sometimes see each other naked now.

When you don’t respond, he continues, “I don’t think they would care. And it’s been killing me, you’re walking around in that scrap of fabric you call a swimsuit and I’ve only gotten to take it off of you once, the whole time we’ve been here.” He tugs you closer by your hand and slips his from yours to wrap an arm around your waist. His skin against yours has you feeling hot and you know it’s not from the sun.

“Yeah, but that time was good,” you’re laughing as you think back to two nights ago. Everyone was exhausted from traveling here and hauling their stuff inside, then instantly heading to the beach and spending the whole day in the sun and water. You’d all had the time of your lives, then settled in on the back deck that night, lit only by the ambient light coming from inside the house. You, Joy, Jita and Sam had gotten comfortable in the hot tub while Jake had perched himself onto one of the huge Adirondack chairs, smoked a couple cigarettes and played his acoustic. Josh had joined him and sipped his drink, uncharacteristically quiet.

Two by two, the others had claimed overwhelming tiredness and slipped off to shower and claim their respective shared beds, leaving you and Josh alone in relative silence. The sound of the waves hitting the beach in the darkness had been your only background music. You’d left the hot tub when everyone else did and stood leaning over the railing of the deck, sipping your own drink and watching the moonlight ripple over the ocean.

When Josh had slid up behind you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your body and gripping the bannister beside your own hands, it hadn’t been a surprise. When he’d pressed himself into you with his face nuzzling into your hair until he could reach the bare skin of your shoulder, kissed you there, you hadn’t been shocked. When you could feel him, hard and needy and already rocking his hips against the swell of your ass, you had wanted him too.

He took you there just like that, outside in the moonlight, under the cover of dark and hush of secrecy after sliding the bottoms of your bikini down your legs and slipping himself between them.

“Hmm it was good, it’s better in your bed though. Or on your couch. Or in your shower. Or-“

“I get it!” You reach across yourself to swat a hand at his chest, which he grabs and holds there for just a moment before releasing it. He has you laughing as usual, as he always has even before you’d ventured into this new part of your friendship.

“I’m just saying, they probably wouldn’t care. And if they knew… I could fuck you in a bed later.” He’s dropped the volume of his voice as if anyone around could hear him over the sounds of the water, the atmospheric music from various spots on the beach, the kids playing and digging holes in the sand.

“I’m just not ready yet. I like that it’s just us, it’s just ours. I dunno…” You’re chewing your bottom lip in contemplation. “Let’s give it one more day maybe?”

“Sure, princess. Whatever you want.” He says it affectionately, no sign of disappointment in his tone. “Wanna go swimming? It’s so fucking hot out here.”

You agree easily, you’re sticky and sweating and figure you’ll be heading back to the house once you get back to the others.

Wading into the water, now hand in hand again, you walk out until the small waves are lapping against the bottom of your rib cage.

“C’mere, I need a kiss.” He’s already tugging you to him, lifting you effortlessly in the water and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you both down so you’re submerged up to your shoulders.

“Josh, there’s people all over the beach!” You resist but in truth, the beach is starting to clear as the sun begins its descent, your arms are draping themselves over his sun kissed shoulders.

Faces already so close to each other that you can see every freckle that the sun has coaxed from his usually near flawless skin, he says, “They don’t know us, they’re not even looking. Kiss me…”

And you oblige, hardly needing to move closer before your lips are slotted together. His skin is salty from sweat and his earlier dip in the sea and you can taste it on his lips, you open yours and slide just the tip of your tongue over the fullness of his bottom one. A quiet sound akin to a growl rumbles in his throat before his own tongue slips against yours and he deepens the kiss. With his bare chest moving against yours, barely covered by the scrap of fabric you call a swimsuit, floating in the ebbing water you forget for a moment that this is supposed to be a secret. It feels good to be kissing him in the open for once.

The lower halves of your bodies are pressed tight together and you can feel his dick getting hard in his swim trunks.

“Josh…” you break away but stay very close.

“Y/N…” he mimicks. “I could fuck you right here, in front of all these people and they wouldn’t even know. Still our secret.” He presses another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Absolutely not, water sex isn’t even that good anyway and I’m definitely not having ocean water shot up my-“

He cuts you off with his lips, giggling against them.

“You’re vulgar. Fine, but if I don’t get inside you at some point tonight, my vacation is ruined.” With that, he releases the grip he had on your ass, grabs your waist and pulls you below the surface with him.

You’re sputtering and spitting water when you come back up, but you watch as he emerges casually, eyes closed as he runs his hands back over his hair, pushing all of it away from his face. Maybe he’s onto something. He looks beautiful like this, totally in his element in every version of nature, and you’re not sure when exactly you started to see him that way.

He’d made the first move that pushed you toward the place you find yourself now. It had been a night of celebration, the guys had just found out their album had been nominated for a Grammy and regardless of their nonchalance about it, excitement had been high and drinks were being handed out and passed around their parents’ home. Out on the back porch, he’d watched Jake go back inside after the three of you had smoked, you and Josh having shared a cigarette. Once the door was closed, he’d offered you the last hit and then taken it when you declined. Very focused on where he was stubbing the butt out on the wooden railing, he asked you simply, “Hey Y/N… you ever hooked up with a rockstar?”

It was a joke, but it had taken little effort to transition it into a serious proposition. Your curiosity had gotten the best of you and combined with the affection you’d always felt for him, you’d let him kiss you there in the cold. Then you’d let him sneak you back inside, past the slightly inebriated members of his family, and up into his bedroom. It was there that he truly surprised you with talented fingers and a skilled tongue, and an honestly perfect cock. Beautiful, even. You should’ve known, based on the rest of him. I guess that was when I started to see him that way.

“Ready to head back?” He’s watching you watch him, you think he can probably read exactly where your thoughts have wandered off to.

Leaving the water, you ring as much of it out of your hair as you can and comb it out with your fingers as you walk before reaching down to hold Josh’s hand in yours again. You spend most of the journey back in comfortable silence, each thinking about the other in only slightly different ways. You’re trying to figure out how you can get him in your bed later; he’s wondering if you’ll give in and let him tell the others about your little situation, so he doesn’t have to sneak into your bed later.

You’ve almost reached the part of the beach where the rest of your group is camped out before you realize you’re still holding hands. Snatching yours out of his more abruptly than you intend to, you quickly meet his eyes. “Josh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

He cuts off your apology with a shake of his head, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “It’s fine, princess.” He’s not upset and you’re not embarrassed. You’re just not… ready.

You reach the others as they’ve started to pack up, the sun dipping farther to the west quickly.

“Jesus, I thought you guys got kidnapped, or eaten by a shark. I was hoping it was the shark,” Sam offers up his speculation on why you’ve been gone so long. “Help us grab this shit, I’m starving.”

Once you’ve made it back to the house you each take turns rinsing off in the outdoor shower, the couples hopping in as pairs to save time. When they’re done, Josh lets you go in before him as the others migrate indoors to start prepping dinner. From outside the wooden shower stall, Josh speaks so quietly you can barely hear him over the sound of the water hitting the concrete at your feet.

“Can I rinse off with you? No one’s out here. They probably wouldn’t even think it’s weird anyway…”

You pop your head out from behind the plastic curtain to find him leaned against the stall and he raises his head up immediately. The look on your face is one he appreciates, you look like you’re up to no good. A hand shoots out to grab the front of his swim trunks, fingers instantly tucking into the waist and pulling him past the curtain and into the stall, your mouth seeks his out as you pull your bodies under the stream of tepid water. He’s kissing you without question, never passing up an opportunity to have his lips, tongue or teeth on you.

Pulling away, breathless, your hands are already moving to untie his trunks.

“Whoa whoa, out here? They’re waiting on us ohh fuck.” He cuts his concerns short when your hand, now down the front of his shorts, grips his half-hard dick. You give it a few strokes, you need him all the way there.

“You better make it quick then, huh Josh?” You murmur into his ear.

It’s not his favorite way to do things, but you’re persuasive. “Ah, heh, yeah okay,” he stammers out as you continue to work him with firm strokes, now fully hard against your palm. “There’s- shit, we don’t have enough time for me to get you off.”

“Don’t care, later, fuck me or get out.” It’s the last thing you’d want, for him to leave now. You know he won’t. His hands are at your hips instantly, pushing you back against the wood and untying the strings that hold your bikini bottoms together, letting them fall to the ground; you’re pushing his shorts down his body just enough to allow his cock to spring free.

“Let me touch you first, make you feel good.”

“I’m ready, c’mon-“

“Shut up, Jesus okay.” Reaching down he cups you with his hand anyway, before sliding his first two fingers through your lips and finding that you’re correct. His eyes shoot up from watching his own hand, to your face.

Your eyebrow quirks up, a smirk on your face. “I told you. Let’s do this, hurry up.”

He slips his fingers through you one more time before rubbing the slickness of your arousal over the head of his now throbbing dick. “Okay come here,” he reaches down again, this time to grip the back of your thigh and lift your leg to wrap around his hip. His other hand has found the side of your neck where it slips back into your hair and holds tight. Forehead pressed against yours, you’re both looking down, watching as he steps forward just a bit and moves his hips in toward you. One of your hands is on his shoulder and you slide it up to tangle your fingers into his curls, the same way he’s done to yours. Your other hand moves down between your bodies to grip him again, guide the tip through your wetness once and line him up with you.

He pushes his hips into you again, his cock sliding easily past your entrance and bottoming out with a thrust and a quiet grunt let out through his nose. He wishes he could savor the moment like he usually does but you’ve already demanded urgency from him, so as you both continue to watch where your bodies are connected, he begins pumping into you rapidly.

“Just like that, don’t stop,” you’d been a little desperate to have him inside you since your moment in the ocean, the feeling is electric enough to hold you over until you can get him alone again. “It’s so good, fuuuck!”

He pulls his hand from your hair and slaps it across your mouth. Your praise has only encouraged him to go harder, faster, but you’re too loud. “Wish I could do better but you’re fucking rushing me,” he spits out but doesn’t break his rhythm. He’s already close, wishing he had the freedom to hear all the pretty sounds he’s used to drawing from you. “Tell me where you want me, where do you want me to cum? Quietly,” his tone has your eyes meeting his and you nod your head in understanding so he removes his hand from your face then shoves it back into your hair.

“Inside,” you whisper, out of breath.

“God you’re perfect,” he grunts out and thrusts hard, only a few more times before he’s spilling deep inside you, his hips pushed flush against yours and his head dropped to your shoulder.

“Mm I know I am,” you joke, slipping your hand down from his hair and running it down his spine, causing him to shiver under your touch. With a soft tap to his butt before dropping your leg from his hip you add, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

You're both laughing quietly, as always the tone is lighthearted, even when he’s easing himself from your cunt. It’s never that serious.

“Let’s get cleaned up handsome, I’m starving now too.”

“What the fuck is taking you guys so long to do anything today?” Jake is the first to call you out once you’re walking into the kitchen. Damn I really thought that was a quickie.

“My hair was disgusting from the saltwater, needed some extra tender loving care Jakey. You understand, I’m sure,” you’re brushing him off but you throw a wink Josh’s way. Otherwise occupied, Jake doesn’t see it.

“Sure princess, so what’s the annoying one’s excuse?”

You scoff in faux offense for your friend. “He is not annoying, he was being responsible enough to rinse the sand and saltwater off of all of your belongings!” Hoping that’s a decent enough cover, and also tiring of the discourse you leave it at that and ask the girls what you can help with after you change. Running up to your room for a clean t-shirt, you remove your bikini top and throw the shirt on, coming back to assist in just that and your bottoms. Everyone else’s state of dress or undress is pretty similar.

Dinner is casual, most of you eat sitting at the kitchen island while Sam opts to stand against the counter and eat from his plate while it’s still sitting in his hand. You all stay in position as the food disappears and the drinks begin flowing freely. You’re a few glasses into a bottle of red wine, various other bottles litter the island. More wine, clear liquors, dark liquors - everyone is sipping on their drink of choice. Conversation flows easily, usually multiple happening at once and currently you’re telling the girls a story about something or another from when you’d first met the guys. Having picked up on Josh’s dramatic flair over the years, your storytelling is animated and wild, earning genuine laughter from everyone.

Except Josh.

You hadn’t noticed that he didn’t return to his chair after slipping back into the room from a trip to the bathroom. Instead he’d moved through the kitchen and past the island altogether, taking a seat in a chair at the unused dining table. He’s turned the chair so he’s still within the sphere of the group but on the outskirts enough, behind you and slightly to your left, that he feels like an observer more so than an active participant. That’s what he wants, to observe you, watch you blend so flawlessly into his life - making his brothers laugh, making their partners feel included. He’s intrigued by your talent for storytelling, though some of the punchlines are at his expense. He’s in awe of your appearance - carefree and beautiful in his eyes, sun kissed skin and hair wavy from the salt and sea.

You hadn’t noticed him sitting back there, but someone had.

Jake is across the island from you, leaned against the kitchen counter an arm’s length or so from Sam. He’s been enthralled in your tale, though he’d lived the story in real time, but he notices Josh walk by and past the rest of you when he returns. He watches over your shoulder as his twin takes a seat at the table and doesn’t take his eyes off of your back. He catches it when you stand from your seat, reenacting something with your whole body, as Josh’s gaze lands on your still exposed legs and, Jake can only imagine, your ass cheeks peeking out from under your oversized shirt as you move.

Huh. Isn’t this an interesting development?

He’s missed what you said but everyone around the island laughs suddenly, so Jake uses this opening to excuse himself. “Hey Josh, join me for a smoke?”

Josh doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard his brother speak.

“Josh. Smoke?” Josh reacts this time, shaking out of his silent contemplation and standing to follow Jake out the door to the deck. You react too, Jake having raised his voice to get Josh’s attention. You watch them head outside and move down the deck, out of view before you pour yourself another glass and listen as Sam is now elaborating on something you’d said.

Outside, Jake offers his twin a cigarette and lights them both when he accepts, passing one to him. Josh is leaned back in an Adirondack while Jake posts up against the railing across from him, examining his face closely.

“What are you staring at?”

“Hm, I could’ve asked you the same, inside just now. What were you staring at?”

Josh’s face blanks, rid of any type of reaction, but it’s too late.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N?”

There’s panic rising to the surface, only because Josh knows you don’t want the rest of them to know about you guys. Yet. “What are you talking about Jake?”

“Don’t give me that shit, you’ve been staring at her like you want to eat her alive. It’s so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. How long has this been-“

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’re fucking lying,” Jake’s not believing a word of it, he knows his brother better than he knows himself sometimes. “Are you fucking her, or do you just want to?”

“She’s my best friend-“

“Not what I asked. Also, irrelevant. So which is it?”

Josh looks away, past Jake, up at the moon. It’s not sitting in the same place in the sky as it had been when he’d been alone with you out here, too early in the night still.

“Well? Are you fucking her? How long?”

Josh drops his eyes back to his twin’s face, so similar to his own, and sighs. He’s not getting out of this, and he almost doesn’t want to. He can feel the relief within reach, at the tips of his fingers, the release that he’ll feel once the words leave his lips.

On a whisper almost so quiet that Jake doesn’t hear it, he lets it go.

“Eight months.”

“EIGHT MONTHS?” Jake whisper-yells, his eyes bulging out of his skull.

“Eight months, two weeks and three days.”

Oh. Ohhh.

They sit in silence for a few long moments.

“How long have you been in love with her?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Idiot.

Josh leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. He rubs them over his face a few times then back over his hair, curls flopping back over his forehead.

“A long fucking time, Jake.”

Part 2 🤍

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiskza #josh gvf #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #gvf fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #gvf fic #jake kiszka #jake gvf

[antiromanticbaby]

Heavenless - Lucifer

Angel!Lucifer x Fem! Angel! Reader

✧ This will probably never happen but it’s alright to daydream, isn’t it? 

Genre: Angst  Summary: Lucifer always poked his head into places that he shouldn’t have. Well, father has found a good source of entertainment for him. He shall now have another half, just for him.

“Why have you called upon me, father?” The angel asked, looking up to the blinding light and the covers that separated him from the entity up those stairs. He knew there was a throne and someone, or something was sitting on top of it, but due to safety protocols, no one had the right to see this person. To check their appearance and actually meet them face  to face. Of course, the entity, known as ‘father’ was too good to step down to his angels’ level. 

As for his voice? Everyone described it in their own way. But at the end of all their speeches, there was only one result. ‘Sweet, comforting, kind, soft.’ 

“I have made a decision regarding you.” The entity said. And like always, Lucifer found comfort in the voice. He waited patiently for father to continue. “I wish to test something with angels. Come closer, Lucifer.” 

And he did. The raven haired angel stepped closer from his place and that was when he noticed a human sized glass casket. A coffin made of glass, if he were to describe it. Right on the inside, laid a beautiful woman. With (h/l) (h/c) hair that looked very soft and fluffy, (lip shape) lips put into a warm smile and eyes that were still close. Oh how curious he was to check what color were those eyes of yours. 

“Open the casket, Lucifer.” 

Lucifer put his hand on the glass, slowly opening the container. He was afraid as if he could easily break the doll on the inside. Slowly but gently, he ran his hand through your soft (h/c) locks. “Who is this, father?” 

“An experiment, my Morningstar. And I have found you to be the best candidate for this experiment of mine.” Father said, making Lucifer frown. The entity then continued. “As gentle as the summer breeze, as lovely as spring blooms and as deep and calming as the ocean. She will give you nothing but innocent love, and I trust you to take good care of her.”

The female angel’s eyes slowly opened, her dazzling (e/c) eyes making contact with Lucifer's crimson ones. Father continued. “Lucifer, greet your other half, (y/n).”

There was no way out of this now.

Many days have passed. Lucifer wouldn’t lie, he had found you quite bothering. Staying on his side no matter where he went and questioning him over the smallest of things. But in a way, he found it quite adorable. 

“Lucifer, what are these herbs used for?”

“Hey Lucifer, why do we look after humans?”

“Lucifer, are there any other deities aside from us and the humans?”

And bit by bit, your curiosity was beginning to shape into you sharing your thoughts and opinions. Something Lucier greatly appreciated. 

“Why don’t we use these other flowers instead? They might be rarer, but certainly better.”

“Humans can make independent choices, don’t you agree? Lilith also agrees, she said it’s quite offensive to look after them like babies.”

“How was your trip to Devildom? Did you meet any interesting demons?” 

Lucifer was also beginning to accept you as his other half. He would always greet you with smiles, soft kisses on hand and forehead, sometimes on the tip of your nose. He would randomly run his hand through your hair as you two stood next to each other and hold you close whenever in public. 

“It was… Nice.” He said, patting your head gently. The male angel still treated you like a fragile doll, but with even more love. “I need to speak about it with father, don’t wait on me.”

And just like that, many other days passed. You knew, you knew he was hiding something, he was doing something behind your back. But you never questioned it, you knew he didn’t like it when you got too pushy. 

But a part of you hoped you had asked. 

“Simeon, let me go!” You screamed, thrashing wildly in the said angel’s grip. You screamed, kicked, cried, but no avail. All you received was him shushing you, telling you to go and hide. “Simeon… Simeon I need to go to him! I must stay on his side, please! Let go!” 

“Hush (y/n)” He whispered bitterly, a lump in his own throat. “It won’t help him, trust me. You shouldn’t see this anymore, you-”

You did the unthinkable. You bit him, flapping your angelic wings in his face before running off. Behind your back, Lucifer was planning a war, a riot against father. And if you knew, you would’ve helped. Did he believe you would stop him? Your other half? 

But again, you were late. And the last you saw him was him falling, his wings ripped out and the rest turning a dark, sinful shade. And even then, the guards grabbed you. Male angels always had the tendency to find themselves upper than you, except for Lucifer and the brothers. 

“Please… Let me go with him…”

Check it out! [cursed records] [sweet dreams] [roses]

Should I make a pt 2?...

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me nightbringer #nightbringer #lucifer shall we date #shall we date lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #angel lucifer #lucifer obey me #lucifer avatar of pride #angst

[zukadiary]

Kazuki Sora taidan diary 〜 2024.2.11

(also kind of a Boiled Doyle on the Toil Trail / Frozen Holiday write up)

I've now woken up eight times in a world where Kazuka Sora is an OG (changing that number daily, as I've been trying to write this for six days), and the sense of having somehow slipped into a severely incorrect timeline is getting progressively stronger. Coupled bizarrely with that is deep, deep gratitude that, despite everything that's happened in the last four years, and especially in the last five months, she got a gut-wrenchingly, absolutely devastatingly beautiful taidan. I can't say perfect, because perfect would have been after a well deserved top star run. But barring that, I never dreamed it would get this close.

Long post incoming.

I have to set the stage...

Once upon a time in 2013, Asaka Manato, then nibante in Ouki Kaname's Soragumi, got her turn starring in Brilliant Dreams +NEXT, a multi-part Sky Stage series where you got to like, do some stuff of your choice with other people in your troupe. She decided to recreate some of her favorite revue choreography, and a friend alerted me that one episode was dedicated to the infamous Rosso scene from Takarazuka's Dream Kingdom (which, as you can see in the linked post, completely short circuited noob me from a decade ago). Maasama was still a good 2+ years from winning me over at the time, and I think I reluctantly watched it with some level of offense that she touched a Komu thing. As I'm sitting in front of my computer rolling my eyes, out comes this tiny thing in capri pants, mismatched socks, suspenders, and thick glasses: ken-4 Kazuki Sora, here to report on the situation in the rehearsal room.

She spent her airtime cracking jokes, tripping on her tongue, riding on Susshi's shoulders, and generally acting like Soragumi's annoying kid brother. I thought she was funny.

Another friend told me she thought she was tracked. I absolutely did not believe her.

Then, against a fair amount of adversity, she got the 100th anniversary Rose of Versailles shinko lead, and my eyes widened a bit. The next time I found myself in Japan, I was gifted a 9th row seat to what coincidentally happened to be her first ginkyou crossing in PHOENIX Takarazuka! I'd been spending the show curiously scanning the stage for her, and when I witnessed the gap between reporter and performer, my jaw hit the floor.

Afterwards, my kangeki companion asked if I was interested in anyone in the troupe. I said Kazuki Sora. She recoiled and said "but she's so short."

***

Something that I noticed during this taidan trip is that covid-era fans met a wildly different Sora than I know. Growing up in 2010s Soragumi was uniquely rough. I'm not even talking about ::hand waves:: the present circumstances and what may or may not have lead up to them; I mean they persisted with a level of star saturation through the dawn of the pandemic that had kinda crazy consequences for the otokoyaku track. Not only was the track itself overcrowded, but the troupe also held onto a number of non-tracked upperclassmen to whom they seemed unwaveringly committed to casting in juicy roles. I remember when things seemed so untenable that Soragumi fans were universally on pins and needles waiting for what felt like an inevitable big transfer out, and I remember freezing in shock on the side of the road when instead they transferred Serika Toa in.

Here's some analysis for perspective:

Kiki is the third oldest top of all time, and spent more time as nibante alone than Tamaki Ryou took to get from debut to top.

Lord knows how long Soragumi will be in this state of flux, but if they come out of it and Kiki gets a normal number of shows, AND Sakuragi Minato is next, Zun could immediately overtake Kiki for third place

Speaking of Zun, her first two-city lead was in 2020. Looking at her top star douki, Rei Makoto's and Yuzuka Rei's were in 2017, and Tsukishiro Kanato's was in 2018.

Rukaze Hikaru's first bow lead was in 2019, two years later than her other tracked douki, Akatsuki Chisei (four if you count A-EN).

Slightly more invisible but just as devastating, the lessened exposure on stage between leads has likely resulted in lower fan club numbers and less overall popularity.

...and back to Sora. Hundreds of us filled Hibiya Park this past weekend, but Sora spent her early Takarazuka career so buried that, despite being a triple threat on stage and an utter delight off, her fan base was small enough that at ken-7 they let me, not yet even a club member, accompany my friend to demachi where I became the third attendee. For years, Sora was, frustratingly, an in-person only watch. I'd go to Japan, memorize her positions, miss the rest of the show for following her with my opera glasses, and pop in the DVD at home only to find her always just off screen. A Motion was one of the most fun times I've had in a Takarazuka theater, and on the DVD during my favorite Sora SOLO, the camera is on Sorahane Riku wordlessly dancing.

I was floored when she got Anita. I was livid that she could give THAT PERFORMANCE and immediately afterwards be cast as an ensemble soldier in Red River (although she was so good in Citrus Breeze that after 5 years of deluding myself that I "couldn't betray my beloved Yukigumi like that" ((ironic, right?)) I finally caved and joined club). I stress dreamed multiple times about the impending bow announcement before she got Hustle Mates. I cried when she finally came down the stairs between two musumeyaku in Ocean's Eleven at ken-10, in which she played Linus, a role that felt like a big break even though it had previously always gone to ken-6s. FINALLY, the massive Ocean's taidan relieved a little pressure, and I felt a tangible thrill when suddenly she was all over the Aqua Vitae shonichi digest, something that had never happened before.

That's where we left off in February 2020, when the Diamond Princess docked in Yokohama, and my therapist didn't know what I was talking about when I said I was giving myself a stomachache watching live case numbers ahead of my scheduled trip, and I canceled my flight, and I put my freshly printed pack of homemade Suleiman postcards under my bed, and I didn't see her for 4 years 4 months and 3 days.

***

It's hard to talk about Sora's taidan announcement and not come off as biased and overly dramatic, given that she's my girl. But in 11 years of countless taidan announcements, I've never come close to being as blindsided by one as I was with hers. The vibe I've gotten is that fans, siennes, and patrons alike were all properly shocked.

I'd spent the better part of a decade internally screaming for Takarazuka to act like they recognize her undeniable talent. Frustratingly, it finally started happening during covid. While I was living under the impression that Hustle Mates was a genuine miracle, she got an unimaginable second lead... then, thanks to the breathing room in her new Yukigumi home, a third... and then a fourth. Having been burned for so long, I've always firmly been team I-don't-think-Sora-is-going-to-make-top, but despite that, I was actually starting to believe it could—dare I say would—happen. I wasn't even certain the people murmuring on twitter that she might leapfrog Aasa were completely delusional. I went into Hyperbolic Chart, my looooong awaited reunion, excited to assess Kasumi Sana as her potential future partner. I enthusiastically bought all her postcards for future writing, because the last time I'd seen her, she, at ken-10, didn't have postcards.

Two days after that I found myself again frozen in shock on the side of the road.

Two days after that.... yeah.

***

Somehow, despite 11 years of knowing how this works, of weathering various taidans with friends, of crying in bathrooms until they started cleaning the theater at taidans that weren't even technically mine, I was also completely blindsided by the taidan experience itself.

Part of it was definitely the time skip, from years of intimate Sora fandom to nothing to a couple of A-seki (she's the it girl now!) for a lead I wouldn't have chosen with a troupe I barely recognize anymore to bye, she's gone. Part of it was being thrown back into this after 4+ years of pandemic-dulled emotions, followed by the exhaustion of Takarazuka's crisis era. Part of it was lowered expectations from the largely uninspired and under funded lineup of forgettable shows churned out by tired directors of dubious morality. Part of it was the disaster-shortened Mura run, the self-preserving dissociation fueled by the pain and disbelief that there was a dinner show and I wasn't at it, followed by a month and a half stretch of work so busy it was still going while I sat at the ANA gate for my 1am flight.

But I got here and squeezed into one of those red seats and then all at once I was an unsealed vacuum, cracked wide open, and Doyle and Frozen Holiday rushed in and filled the airless void till it burst.

Boiled Doyle on the Toil Trail

I've been down on Yukigumi.

Yukigumi has been my home troupe for the vast majority of my fandom. I had the fancy Swarovski crystal Yukigumi bag charms, the whole Yukigumi getup from Sports Day '14, Yukigumi albums, Yukigumi chopsticks, etc etc etc. I literally didn't join Sora club for years because I couldn't imagine being pulled out of Yukigumi. But while I was locked out of the country, the march of time took my favorite top star and the vast majority of my emotional support upperclassmen. The pandemic spit Yukigumi out in a state that just made me reeeeeeeeally sad. So I stopped watching them. That's the exact moment they picked to put Sora there.

I hate to admit it, but I still haven't totally caught up on her Yukigumi time.

Which is probably the main reason this show caught me SO off guard... even having watched AND enjoyed the Mura livestream. Sora is best watched in person, after all.

Doyle—a silly take on Arthur Conan Doyle's life, and how he used a magic pen to write Sherlock Holmes by accident, thus setting into motion a runaway series of events—is not only a fun and joyful show, it's a masterpiece of casting. The top 4 were at their absolute peak, and it was a thrill to watch.

I've been watching Ayakaze Sakina since her shinjin kouen days, and my write-ups over the years probably betray my rollercoaster hot and cold journey through her career. I really liked Doyle as a lead for her though. She essentially plays a big idiot wifeguy with a dream, an imaginary best friend, and little conviction; she was very funny and charming. If you were one of the lucky few who managed to see On the 20th Century, think that guy but earnestly the main character vs. dude with main character syndrome. The older I get, the more I have a soft spot for shows where the top combi has "ecstatically celebrating at least their tenth wedding anniversary" energy, and this was one of those.

...Thanks in large part to Yumeshiro Aya, who is absolutely everything. She may be boosted by consistently reminding me of Shirahane Yuri since her partial lead in the 103s Bunkasai, but she also has a very particular type of girlboss energy that I don't feel like I've seen in quite a while. It isn't wearing the proverbial pants energy (a la early TamaChapi), but it is overwhelming I got this energy. I find her to be the absolute embodiment of a top musumeyaku, in that she understands the assignment (making the top star better), while perching on the edge of the backseat just enough that she doesn't overpower Saki, but she's still a knockout in her own right. She probably exudes an extra dose of this energy as Louisa Doyle, who plays a very similar role in her husband's life and writing career. I could not be more thrilled that Aya isn't retiring yet.

Asami Jun plays the aforementioned imaginary friend/magic pen-generated apparition, who happens to be Sherlock Holmes. Some people I've talked to seem a little disappointed in her stage time, but I really felt like this was also peak Aasa. She seems to have broken through a layer of ceiling and gotten really comfortable leaning into her c***y unique energy, which, though I can picture it being polarizing, really does it for me. I sure as hell have never seen an interpretation of Sherlock Holmes REMOTELY like Aasa's, but I was enjoying the Aasa of it all so much that I really didn't care.

When I saw that Sora was playing the editor of Strand Magazine, I was somewhat disappointedly imagining a role like Lestrade (not to invoke another Sherlock), the sort of there-but-not character that has dominated her Takarazuka career since she started getting named roles. My first surprise was how good of a role this was in general, and then how well suited it was to her. She gets to be aloof and handsome, but also incredibly upbeat and funny at times. Her little coworkers at her utterly failing magazine are obsessed with her (which is the mood of the century), and there is a cute little meta moment where Doyle threatens to stop writing Sherlock and Sora tries to quit her job, only to be restrained physically by said coworkers (which is the mood of the moment). Everything from the set of her off-gray permed wig to her 4 or so different plaid suits to her opening solo number was absolutely perfect (not as perfect as it was gonna be later!!!!!).

FROZEN HOLIDAY

It's weird watching a Christmas show in February

I rapidly stopped caring

Speaking of rollercoasters of hot and cold, Noguchi used to be my most hated revue director, hands down. Circa 2017-18, after being deeply personally burned by Super Voyager (and deeply personally confused by Beautiful Garden), the tension I felt while awaiting show announcements hoping I wouldn't have to watch another Noguchi was intense. Noguchi revues being something people covet nowadays still feels unfamiliar, but I count myself among people.

He turned it around for me with the Takarazuka equivalent of winning the grocery store ingredients episode of Project Runway: Delicieux, a covid-budget masterpiece of public domain music and foam macarons (incidentally, also a goodbye to Sora of sorts, as it was her last Soragumi revue). I officially owe him my life after what he did for her in Frozen Holiday.

Firstly, going into my 11th year of watching live Yukigumi, I've never seen Saki shine brighter. While ostensibly a Christmas spectacular, Frozen Holiday was also meant to celebrate Yukigumi's 100th anniversary. Despite the aforementioned rollercoaster, I'm so glad that the top star for the anniversary was someone who has not spent a day outside of Yukigumi in her sienne life, who I've been watching since before my first trip to Japan. And I think the joy of it really showed on her. Aya was an angel, so visually perfect in her snow queen dress that I believed she was destined to be top musumeyaku of Yukigumi from birth. Aasa continued to out-Aasa herself; the wave of feral energy she set off during the first livestream was well earned.

But... remember the disembodied arm just off the TV screen? The utter SHOCK I experienced when they treated her like a friggin' nibante...

Nanami Hiroki, who pulled top star numbers and probably had double our last day crowd at her average Hoshigumi ochakai, and Miya Rurika, who needed a simulcast for her last ochakai, didn't even get the final revue treatment that Sora did.

The disbelief that they did so good by her, the disbelief that I missed the transition, the disbelief that she was really leaving, shattered me.

In addition to general prominence throughout the revue, she gets a whole white-clad taidan number, complete with lyrics designed to blind her fans with saltwater, and one of the best bits of dancing I've seen out of her. After a seemingly impossible quick change, she rejoins the troupe for a very chuuzume-esque anniversary number (assuming the Christmas kyakusekiori is the real chuuzume), and that might actually be my favorite bit of dancing in the whole show. She co-leads the Noguchi-signature boyband number with Aasa, which I forgive because it's them and it's also T.M. REVOLUTION. She even gets a spotlight moment alone with Saki during the kuroenbi. And through all of it, she was so, so good. Good does not even begin to describe Kazuki Sora.

I felt like I cried for 48 hours straight.

***

I didn't manage to get myself actually into the theater for senshuuraku, but I did end up with two Hibiya cinema tickets. When I tried to pass one off onto one of the fellow jilted Sora Club members trying her luck outside of Chanter, I got pounced on by an old lady while those in their white wear were moaning about the cinema not being good enough. I was too tired and nervous to tell her I'd prefer to sit next to someone in club, so she got it. She and I ended up crying the hardest of everyone in the cinema by far. Thanks, old lady <3.

***

One thing that struck me was how desperately, frightfully grateful I was that Sora retired from Yukigumi. Sure, if she hadn't, her taidan would have probably just been canceled... but I don't even mean that. The anniversary aspect of Frozen Holiday was beautiful, and filled me with a joy and nostalgia I wasn't prepared for. It was my first kyakusekiori since 2019, and after Sora ran by me, I was blessed to find myself next to Kujou Asu, someone I adore enough to be in her club in an alternate universe. It was my first iride since 2019, and I had the privilege of seeing off one of my favorite musumeyaku, Sara Anna, as well. The way the troupe members talked about Sora, and what she gave them, and how thrilled they were that she joined them, made my heart swell. As genuinely mad as I was when they broke up KikiSora, I could see that Yukigumi gave her the space to blossom.

The farewell dinner was even entirely gluten free by complete accident, down to the fancy manju omiyage with mountain yam flour dough.

***

Five onsen dips, a massive weeb shopping spree a lifetime in the making, and one extremely bizarre Komu show later, I'm on the plane home, finally not crying on command.

But not having a runaway fave for the first time in ten years feels really desolate. I miss her so much.

#takarazuka #reviews #Boiled Doyle on the toil trail #Kazuki Sora #taidan 24

[steddiebang]

From Hell and Back

Author: @rindecision l Artist: @lady-lostmind l Artist: @feralsteddie Posting on Sunday, October 1

One Halloween, years after the fall of Hawkins, Steve and Robin end up summoning Eddie from the depths of Hell. Steve, not knowing the ways of the occult, accidentally frees him and has to deal with a mischievous demon on the loose. Eddie drives Steve insane with various shapeshifting antics, both in and out of the bedroom, while Robin tries to find a way to send him back to hell. But, when faced with the opportunity to return his life to normal, will Steve even want to go through with it? OR Lots of supernatural, hentai-esque smut with a playful, romantic plot.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Chapter 1 

The paper that Robin tossed aside caught his eye. He picked it up and hesitated to toss it into the bin.  Curiosity got the better of him, so he flattened it to see the notes. 

He got a strange sensation of someone watching him and he turned around to his empty living room.  He squinted back down at the paper. “Non ampl— How do you even pronounce half of this? Cavee am? Discordi-um?” Steve shrugged and tried it out. “Non amp-lee-us, lie-gat, discord-ee-am, add-uct or, cave-ee-um, too-am, lev-ah-vee.” He snorted and crumpled it back up. 

When he turned around to toss the paper into the trashcan, he froze at what sounded like a match strike. He swallowed and turned around to see the candles lighting by themselves, one by one. Each candle  flared back to life with the sound of a match strike. The flames from the candles grew into thin towers  of flame as the lights of his apartment dimmed out. The light from the flame was blinding, making  Steve shield his eyes as the fire spun together in the center of the pentagram. 

“Fucking finally!” A familiar voice shouted as the flames burst and petered away. 

Steve stared in awe as his lights flickered back on. There was a demon resembling Eddie standing in  his living room casually cracking his neck. His skin was warm grey with lines of black tattoo-esque  writing twisting around his body. A multitude of thin silver chains draped over him as his only form of  clothing. Strangely, it wasn’t offensively indecent that he was mostly exposed, as he didn’t seem to  have any genitalia. He had four horns coming off of his head. The top two flanked the natural part of  his elbow-length wavy hair and curved down the back of his head. The other two started on each  temple and curved around his ears. A thin whip-like tail waved wildly behind him as he stretched. 

“E—Eddie?” Steve gasped. 

“In the flesh.” He paused with a contemplative expression. “If you can call this flesh.” He looked at  Steve and a smile spread across his face. “Did you miss me… big boy?” 

“Yo—I—th—” Steve stammered, looking into his inhuman eyes. They were black where they should  be white, and his irises looked like hellfire. “I have to be fucking dreaming.” He blinked and shook his  head. 

“Aww,” Eddie cooed. “Are you calling me a dream come true, Harrington?” 

“More like a nightmare.” He looked at the ground and raised his hands in disbelief. “I’ll take it.” Eddie smirked. “Now, how about you finish what you started?” 

Chapter 3 

“Come on, bring your demon to work day.” 

Steve snorted. “Because I can just walk into work with a seven-foot demon on a leash.” Eddie hummed. “I like the idea of you putting me on a leash.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and sat at the kitchen bar to eat.

“Plus, did you forget?” Eddie disappeared. “I can be invisible.” 

“Still no.” 

“What about?” A pocket-sized demon Eddie appeared in front of his plate on the counter from a small  puff of black smoke. “Tiny?” 

Steve had to stop himself from choking on his food at the strange sight. He looked exactly as he did  full-size, but only about three inches tall. The tiny Eddie walked up to his plate and sat on the edge of  it. 

“Seriously, no one would even know I was there.” He speared a blueberry with his tail and held it in  both hands. It was almost the size of a cantaloupe to him. After he removed his tail from it, he whipped  the juice off with a flick and took a bite of it. 

“You’re just trying to trick me into letting you out, like you did with the summoning circle.” He picked  up Eddie by his tail, hanging him upside down as he continued to bite the berry. 

“Actually, I just don’t want to be bored. I wouldn’t even leave your side.” 

“Not happening.” 

Eddie stuck out his forked tongue and tossed the half-eaten berry into Steve’s water. “Nice,” Steve said sarcastically. 

Chapter 8 

If he wasn’t using both hands to stroke the rest of Eddie’s dick, Steve would have one on his own. He  was pleased to find that the chains and piercings didn’t get in the way as much as he thought they  would. In fact, they added a nice texture to the mix. 

While he was enjoying being in control, he wanted Eddie’s touch as well. He swallowed the best he  could around the dick before he pulled off of it and looked up at the demon’s duskily flushed face.  “Eddie,” he panted, rubbing his cheek against the massive dick as he stared hazily at him. “You’re free  to do as you choose.” 

Eddie heaved a heavy sigh and a wide smirk invaded his face. His sharp canine dug into his lip and he  gazed down at Steve’s lust stricken face. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he said softly, stroking his fingers  along Steve’s jaw. 

Steve shuddered and nuzzled Eddie’s hand. He hadn’t expected his touch to feel so good. He kept his  eyes locked on Eddie’s piercing ember irises until he had his lips back around his dick. 

“Fuck…” Eddie sighed, gingerly weaving his fingers through Steve’s hair, careful not to interrupt his  movements. “At least I can actually watch now.” 

After a few more sucks, Steve pulled off and licked under the ridge of the head. “Is that all you plan to  do?” 

Eddie grinned and pushed Steve’s hair back. “Was there something you’d rather I do?”

Read more on October 1!

#steddiebang23 #steddiebang23 upcoming projects

[pumpkinhrat]

(Sorry to keep fic dumping in ur asks but this au has me feral :P)

     Jonathan Sims is not a ‘dating app’ sort of man. Except for the fact that, yes, apparently, he is. There’s something deeply fascinating, he’s learning, about being able to click through people’s lives in a matter of minutes. To have their personal values and oddities laid out on a platter for him to pick through. For some inexplicable reason, people are willing to put their entire lives on an app if it has a chance to find them a partner. Or get them laid, if Tim is to be believed. That particular aspect, of course, is largely unappealing, but Jon has to admit that being able to thoroughly vet each person he talks to is incredibly enticing.

     After leaving work (at 5 o’clock sharp, he may add, since his assistants never allow him to stay any later these days) and returning home, Jon is only able to resist the allure of his newly installed app for half an hour. He barely manages to make himself a cuppa (slightly underbrewed and thoroughly over-sugared) before he collapses on his grandmother’s old couch and swipes open his phone. At work, he’d only allowed himself a few minutes to peruse the profiles that Tim and Sasha had handpicked for him. Some of them had been insultingly bland – bureaucrats and financiers and the ilk – which is borderline offensive. He knows he was a bit uptight those first few years but good lord.

     The one profile he keeps circling back to, even now curled up alone on his couch, is Martin’s. When Sasha had told him Martin was Tim’s favorite, Jon had almost unmatched on that premise alone but Martin’s biography had caught his eye. Jon balances his tea in one hand as he scans the words for a third time.

     ‘Tea, poetry, and cows. Love those nights where there are twice as many stars as usual.’ Jon’s mouth ticks up against his will again but he doesn’t try to tamp down on it now that he’s in the privacy of his own home. A poetry reference is enough to pique his interest, he can admit to himself (even if he thinks most contemporary writers’ language is typically far too flowery) and this quote in particular is eye-catching.

     One of the many, many books Jon had consumed during his childhood had been a first edition of Laura Gilpin’s The Hocus-Pocus of the Universe. Each of the poems in that book had been short, simple, and utterly devastating. He’d spent many a late night under his covers with a flashlight, extrapolating endless meaning from 10 line poems. The Two-Headed Calf is a personal favorite. Something about how unearned tragedy is gently juxtaposed with naive wonder at simply living grabbed young Jon’s mind and has refused to let go. Objectively, he knows his connection to this particular poem likely has something to do with the sudden loss of his parents and the themes of hope and humanity in the face of grief that Gilpin’s work tends to address. That doesn’t stop him from tracing the words in Martin’s bio with an aching sort of fondness, though.

     It’s probably unwise to connect a stranger and an emotionally charged poem from his childhood in his mind, but Jon can’t help it. He’s been… lonely since Georgie. Not that he’d ever admit that to Tim or Sasha. No, they’d be far too smug and far, far too concerned. And besides, it’s not as if he’s a child. It’s not as if he needs constant attention or affection. It’s quite the opposite in fact; Jon has always been a wildly independent individual. It’s just… Perhaps Georgie changed that part of him. Eroded the barriers he’s had up since his mother’s passing just enough for this– this feeling to seep in. He’d forgotten what it feels like to need someone. He hates the feeling and yet can’t help but curl into it like a lost child.

     This is completely unadvisable. He is attaching– complicated emotions to a complete stranger because they happen to like a poem he read as a child. A swell of derisiveness rises in Jon’s chest and he firmly clicks his phone off. Tim and Sasha are a ridiculous pair who are always planning some stunt or another to get Jon ‘back out there’. It was absurd when Sasha had sent him to her cousin's flower shop with directions to ‘ask her what she thinks the most romantic flower in the world is’ and it’s absurd now. Utterly absurd and a definitive waste of his time. He should really just delete the app off of his phone and be done with the entire affair.

     He turns on a documentary to drown out the twisting of his thoughts and sips at his lukewarm tea, grimacing at the taste. He really should stop trying to make tea for himself, it’s always a disappointment compared to what he’s used to at work. Speaking of… Jon reaches for his work bag and pulls out a few documents he’s been meaning to look into, settling them on the coffee table while the documentarian’s voice drones on smoothly in the background. He conveniently forgets to delete the app.

–

     It’s been three days. Martin checks his phone no less than 10 times an hour. He catches himself staring at Jon’s open office door so often that he surreptitiously angles his chair so he’s not facing it anymore. His back hurts from twisting around.

     Why did he think swiping right on his boss was a good idea?? Is he mad? It doesn’t matter if Jon Super Liked him first, it was probably a prank or a mistake or- or a really weird way to keep tabs on him. Jon has always been super intense like that. Because it’s not as if Jon’s actually interested in him. He hasn’t shown a single sign that he finds Martin any more intriguing than Tim or Sasha. He treats the three of them exactly the same – like friends.

     It’s maddening.

     When Martin had first returned to the office after swiping right, he’d barely been able to contain himself. He’d been giddy and sick with nerves and excitement at seeing Jon because surely he knows. Surely he knows now that Martin has been harboring a vicious crush for years and is finally acting on it. Or even if he doesn’t know all that, at least he knows Martin’s interested, that he’s an option as a romantic partner. It’s nauseating and elating and Martin couldn’t breathe when their eyes had first met that morning.

     And then Jon had blithely handed him a statement to file and turned away without so much as a greeting. The adrenaline crash had nearly made his knees give out.

     What was he thinking? It’s been three days of that now. Three days of delusional, hopeful anticipation followed by soul-crushing disappointment. It’s been exhausting and demoralizing and Martin really isn’t sure how much more he can take. He considered asking Tim for help but he thinks better of it when he remembers how Tim had teased when Martin had told him about his crush. No, it’s much better to deal with this on his own.

     Tucking his phone under his desk, Martin opens up his notes app. A dozen half-formed opening lines shine back up at him. They range from completely corny to overly formal, battling between what Martin would normally open with and what he thinks Jon would like to see. He does avoid mentioning work or that they know each other in all of the messages, though. It seems best to follow Jon’s lead in that regard. A few of the ones he’s written directly mention the few things Jon had put in his bio, like the fact that he has a cat. Actually, that one may be a front runner…

     “Watcha lookin’ at, Marto?” A voice booms from behind him and Martin jumps a half foot in the air.

     “Christ, Tim!” Martin spins in his chair to face him, one hand plastered against his chest and the other clicking off his phone. “Warn a guy, would you? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Tim chuckles and Sasha makes an amused snort from her desk. Martin sends her a betrayed look.

     “He called your name, like, three times dude,” Sasha laughs at him.

     “Yeah, I was worried you might be ignoring me there for a moment. What could I have done to deserve such treatment?” Tim clutches a dramatic hand over his heart and Martin can’t help but huff a laugh. He presses his phone face down on his leg.

     “I wasn’t ignoring you, I was just absorbed in something. What do you need?”

     “Well, you know the Rodriguez statement?”

     It’s not until three hours and six dusty files later that Martin finally gets back to his phone. It takes another 45 minutes and a lot more hemming and hawing, but eventually he settles on an opening line.

     ‘Hi Jon! I’m looking for a cat-dad.’ Then, after a few more minutes of debating, he adds on ‘You seem perfect for the job!’ …Then a winking kaomoji. And a heart.

     Subtlety’s for cowards, anyway.

[start here] --- [previous part]

ANON, KEEP FIC DUMPING ME PLEASE It makes me so sooo happy I don't even have the words to describe it! And receiving it makes me want to get back to drawing and I'm really happy it makes your brain go a bit feral ksjhfkshfk

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING Your writing style is absolutely *chef's kiss*

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"

#anon's tma!da au fic #tma!da au #subtlety's for cowards baby lesss gooo #i can see jon watching cunk on earth as his go-to background noise #tma fic #jmart #jonmartin #asks

[confessionsofa-roleplayer]

As someone with high-functioning autism and significant social anxiety, which can cause times where social cues are particularly difficult to pick up on especially when it's over a text format where it's even harder to discern tone and inflection without blatant indicators, there's a part of me that doesn't really get all the complaints I've seen about a lack of communication when it comes to "plotting". I mean, I can understand the perspective that it can come across as a partner being unenthusiastic whenever they're given ideas but don't really try to hash those ideas out themselves. On the other hand, it's also possible those same partners could really just be fine with the ideas they're being given and don't really have anything to contribute, maybe they'd rather get right into writing the thread out instead of just shooting ideas back and forth? I know that's usually what I'm thinking most of the time. A good part of the reason why someone like myself would be a little disinclined towards sharing much in return is also because I'd be afraid of taking one too many liberties with someone else's ideas or maybe crossing a line with anything I might contribute. I'm sure we can all agree how quick to take offense people on here can be and, having been on both sides of the fence on this, it can be upsetting both when someone wildly misconstrues things about your muse's characterizations and headcanons just to fit whatever idea they might have in mind, and when having to correct those misconceptions or explain why certain ideas wouldn't work very well. It just creates disappointment all around, and when people aren't willing to talk out any disagreements like adults, all it does it shut down the plotting just the same as giving canned answers. It's also worth considering that some people may be geared creatively different. It can be difficult sometimes to come up with something when you may not know another person's character, or their own particular brand of characterization, very well, and sometimes the ideas just don't come to all of us unless we've really gotten a feel for another person's character and we can see the potential for things. Some people may just be wired more towards improvisational writing at that and really don't start fleshing things out until they have a premise in their hands, coming up with possibilities and exploring them during the actual interactions. Not to mention there's also roleplayers out there who do nothing but plot, and when it comes time to actually write the thread, they simply just don't want to bother with it because… Well, you already know how the story's going to go at this point because you talked it over. Why bother actually having back and forth replies about it when you pretty much wrote the story already by plotting? I've had that experience plenty of times with others myself. You spend all this time laying the framework for where the interactions will go and then nothing just gets done with it beyond the planning phase because, hey, you already talked about everything by now. I just hope that by pointing these things out that everyone might realize they shouldn't generalize partners who may not communicate as much during the "plotting" phase and are just straight to the point, give short affirmative answers when offered ideas. I think the only fair way you can tell if someone really is just putting all the work off on others to come up with ideas is if you can see them repeatedly doing this, especially if they never act on it. That right there would be the surest sign of someone being disinterested or just lazy. Then again, there could also be reasons for this as well, like maybe your characters just don't really have any sort of chemistry for any kind of meaningful interaction – and that's okay too. No two people are always going to get along or want to have anything to do with each other, and sometimes it takes some attempt at communicating to figure that much out.

#communication #confessions

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Seven

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Seven: One Hell of a Reaper

Summary: (Y/N) and Sebastian fight a Reaper.

            Grell slashed at (Y/N) and Sebastian wildly as they dodged and flipped around to avoid her attack. “Two demons and a reaper!” said Grell gleefully. “Ah, I wonder if it really is impossible for us to understand each other.” She leapt into the air after (Y/N) as they dodged onto the roofs. “What a Shakespearian tragedy! Two loves that cannot be! Ah, (Nickname)! Wherefore art thou (Nickname) and Bassy?!” She pushed off and wall and drew close to (Y/N).

            Sebastian jumped into the air and kicked between Grell and (Y/N) to force Grell to flip to another roof and move away from (Y/N). The two demons regarded her carefully as she continued her laments and flirtations.

            “If you were to throw away the name given by your masters and only look at me…perhaps we could be meant to be!” cried Grell dramatically.

            “You’re too loud. Like a puppy dog,” said (Y/N). They narrowed their eyes. “I don’t like dogs.”

            Sebastian smirked at their words as Grell gasped in offense. She deserved it for being such a nuisance. “I will say just one thing. From the moment my master named me Sebastian, I was baptized in the contract, and from that day forth, I truly became Sebastian, as I vowed by the moon.”

            (Y/N) had to admit they understood why Grell was so fascinated with Sebastian. With such poetry, such power, and such an appearance in the moonlight, Sebastian was the epitome of the demonic beauty that tempted so many humans.

            “A vow that sways as the moon waxes and wanes?” scoffed Grell. “You are quite the inconsistent man.” She smirked. “Your eyes are filled with impurity that loves absolutely nothing. You are a demon that befouls pure souls with your hands and lips.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes flicked to Sebastian, and his eyes gleamed fuchsia. Neither demon felt bad about any of the acts they had committed over the centuries.

            “Ah, how splendid you both are! I can’t decide, I must have both!” cried Grell, blushing. “Hold me in your arms and kiss me until I lose my mind!”

            “Please stop. That is disgusting,” said Sebastian, shivering.

            “I think she already has lost her mind,” said (Y/N).

            “How cruel to reject my love!” cried Grell. Her chainsaw revved to life. “Beautiful tyrant!” she cried to Sebastian as she swung at him. Whirling on (Y/N), she forced them to dodge as she praised them, “Angelic demon!” Sebastian grabbed Grell’s wrist to keep her from moving. “Raven with heart-shaped wings!” (Y/N) stamped down on the Death Scythe to jam it into the ground. “A ferocious kitten!” She sighed dramatically as the demons held her back. “Ah, if only morning would never come, we would be able to continue our love like this forever! But our adventure must end here,” she cooed. “Let us part with a kiss!” Grell slammed her forehead against Sebastian’s, and he jerked back. “A thousand farewells!” She swung her chainsaw down on (Y/N) and sliced through their front. “Now, allow me to see your devilishly dramatic record!”

            Blood flew through the air as (Y/N) stumbled back and scraps of their Cinematic Record spiraled into the air. They gripped their chest as they watched pieces of their memories be exposed.

            Sebastian and Grell watched a roll of film fly by, dark with a hand stretching up towards the sun and people’s faces obscured by a watery prison. Another glowed with flames as angry mortals screamed and shouted.

            But those scraps flew by in flash, merely seconds in the full extent of (Y/N)’s life. The rest of the memories Grell managed to grab were just…the four troublesome servants causing issues at the mansion.

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes as they watched Grell cry out at not getting anything more interesting. They panted as they held their chest, angry at Grell trying to get to their memories like that. Those were personal.

            Sebastian’s eyes became slits beside (Y/N). He glanced at them, his blood boiled, and his eyes flashed fuchsia. Grell had to go.

            “Just what the hell is this?!” cried Grell as she watched the other servants of the household run around like hooligans.

            “Their recent time here on Earth has been filled without nothing but that,” said Sebastian, smirking.

            “I have no interest in such domestic flashbacks!” said Grell, pouting. “I saw something good! I want it back!”

            “Grell.” (Y/N) smiled with their eyes closed, but it was chilling. “If you try to pry again, I’ll tear you to pieces in a firsthand experience of what I’ve done to people in my time as a demon.”

            Grell shivered. “Oh, now that really gets me going!” She jumped at (Y/N), but Sebastian kicked her back decisively.

            “Ah, (Y/N), your dress is ruined,” said Sebastian. He sighed as he pulled their coat from overtop their dress. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow but allowed him to take it. “It was not my wish to employ this sort of tactic, but I have no choice.”

            “You’re finally going to be serious with me, then?” cooed Grell. “Let’s put an end to this with the next blow! Farewell to this world! Let us be bonded to each other in the next, darlings!”

            She leapt at the demons, and Sebastian threw up (Y/N)’s coat and jammed it into the Death Scythe. Grell stared in surprise as the blades stopped turning.

            “Hey!” she cried, trying to pull the fabric out.

            “That jacket is made from the finest Yorkshire wool. You will find that there’s a lot of friction in wool production,” said Sebastian. “Once it is woven, it is quite hard to tear apart. I didn’t want to use it, but you had already ruined it.” He smirked and stood over Grell with (Y/N). “Well then, I have a bit of confidence in plain fistfights.”

            “Absolutely,” said (Y/N), smirking darkly at Sebastian.

            “W-Wait a minute!” said Grell. “Please, not the face!”

            Sebastian kicked Grell in the face and sent her flying off the roof and falling to the ground below. (Y/N) attacked in the air, punching her so she hit the ground hard. The demons landed beside Ciel as he glanced at the reaper lying in a heap before looking at them.

            “You’re in quite the state,” said Ciel, glancing at Sebastian’s torn shoulder and (Y/N)’s bloody front.

            “We had a little resistance,” said (Y/N) distastefully.

            “Hey!” cried Grell.

            Sebsatian’s eyes slid to Grell. “My, that’s a reaper for you. I suppose you would not die from blows alone.”

            “But Sebastian, she was so kind and brought along her own weapon,” said (Y/N), smirking playfully.

            “You’re right, she did,” said Sebastian, smirking and picking up the Death Scythe. “And a reaper’s scythe can cut through anything, which means it should be able to cut through you, right?”

            “Wh-what?” stammered Grell from the ground. “W-wait a moment!”

            Sebastian stamped down on Grell. “It is quite unpleasant to be stepped upon. Doing the stepping, however, feels good.”

            “It hurts!” cried Grell dramatically.

            “I hope so,” chirped (Y/N).

            “Young Master, even though this hideous reprobate is a reaper, a god of death, are you prepared to accept the consequences of killing her?” questioned Sebastian.

            “Are you trying to make me give the same order twice?” snapped Ciel.

            “Understood,” said Sebastian. He pulled the wool coat from the Death Scythe, and it roared to life.

            “W-wait!” cried Grell.

            “My, you do have an attractive screaming voice,” said Sebastian slyly. He raised the chainsaw above his head. “Let me reward you.” He was going to be immensely satisfied by ending Grell’s life, for more reasons than just being ordered by Ciel. “I will let you depart via this beloved toy of yours!” He looked at (Y/N). “Ready?”

            “Absolutely,” said (Y/N).

            Sebastian smirked. “Perfect.” He swung the chainsaw down.

            A metallic object stretched out from above and blocked the attack before it reached Grell. Sebastian and (Y/N)’s eyes snapped up to see another man standing over them. He wore a suit and spectacles and had the same fluorescent eyes as Grell. It was another reaper.

            “Forgive me for interrupting you mid-conversation,” said the reaper formally. “I am one of the supervisors of the Reaper Dispatch Organization. William T. Spears. I have come to take that reaper back.”

            “Will! William!” cried Grell gratefully. “You came to save m—!” Her head was slammed into the ground as William landed basically on top of her.

            “Dispatcher Grell Sutcliffe, you have committed several regulations violations,” reported William. “First, the elimination of those not on the To Die list. Next, the use of a non-sanctioned Death Scythe. And finally, the disclosure of information pertaining to the lives and circumstances of death of the aforementioned departed.” He bowed to (Y/N) and Sebastian. “I apologize profusely for any inconvenience caused by this.” Sebastian and (Y/N) were not impressed, nor were they moved by William extended a business card to them. “Here is my business card.” William raised an eyebrow distastefully. “Honestly. Having to bow my head to vermin like you really does smear mud across the reaper name.”

            (Y/N) scoffed, and Sebastian replied, “Well, in order for you not to cause the ‘vermin’ further inconvenience, please keep a close watch. Humans are vulnerable to temptation. When they are forced to stand on the hellish precipice of despair, they will unfailingly take any route out of it that appears to them, no matter what kind of web it tangles them in, no matter what kind of person they are.”

            “The ones who take advantage of that and taunt humans are you demons, no?” said William stiffly.

            “Neither of us deny it,” said (Y/N), smiling pleasantly.

            William glanced at Sebastian and then at Ciel, knowing they were contracted. “I suppose that those dogs kept leashed as pets are better than the mad dogs that roam around with no principles.” His eyes moved to (Y/N). “The ones who can go about as they please are troublesome strays.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed fuchsia, and they smiled. “I’m no dog.”

            William tsked before looking down at Grell. “Well, then, we shall return, Grell Sutcliffe.” He grabbed her hair and began dragging her behind him. “My goodness, at a time when we’re already short-handed, once again, I won’t get to leave today. Of course, the director will scold us anyway…If I keep having to do overtime like this—”

            Sebastian threw Grell’s Death Scythe at William. The reaper caught it between two fingers.

            “You forgot that,” said Sebastian with a “pleasant” smile.

            “Thank you,” said William with cold civility, letting the Death Scythe lay on Grell’s stomach carelessly. He adjusted his glasses. “Well, then, excuse us.” William pulled Grell after him, and they disappeared into the night.

            (Y/N) put their hands on their hips. They were disappointed at not getting to finish Grell off, especially for having nearly exposed their private memories, but at least the reaper was gone. Their hand traced over their chest, but although blood stained the clothes, the skin beneath was already healing due to their demonic nature.

            Sebastian glanced at (Y/N) and then at their wound. Satisfied that they were recovering well, he turned to Ciel, who sat beside Madame Red’s body. “I must apologize. I let the other half of Jack the Ripper escape,” he said.

            “It’s fine. It’s over,” said Ciel dully. Sebastian stepped over to guide Ciel to his feet, but he slapped Sebastian’s hand away. “I can stand on my own.”

l

            “So, the funeral arrangements went to plan?” remarked (Y/N), pulling a red rose petal from the shoulder of Sebastian’s jacket. They had known Ciel planned to give Madame Red a true departure in red as she would have wanted.

            “Yes,” said Sebastian. “The Young Master created quite the impression.”

            “Just as the Madame would have wanted,” said (Y/N). They turned and went back to folding clothes (better to keep Mey-Rin away from this since she had somehow managed to tear several pieces of clothing last time).

            “I will never understand the need for humans to have such a ceremony surrounding death. They spend their short lives fearing it and yet obsess over it at the same time,” said Sebastian in amusement.

            (Y/N) paused in their work. “Death is the one thing they cannot avoid. They cannot beat it once it comes for them. And as we have seen over the centuries, all it takes is a moment for death to arrive, and then they have to face the unknown.”

            Sebastian cocked his head. “Do you speak from observation or experience?” He gazed at (Y/N) as they slowly put the shirt they were folding down.

            (Y/N)’s eyes were fuchsia as they met his gaze. “My…mortal life was long ago. I faced death and came out of it stronger.”

            Sebastian smiled. “Yes, you did.” He remembered the same look in their eyes the first time he had ever seen them, the same weight of knowing a human life before becoming a demon. And he found it as fascinating now as he had then.

            (Y/N) blinked as they saw a strange look in his eyes. The fuchsia left their eyes as they relaxed. Sebastian wasn’t disrespecting them for having been human, nor was he prying. (Y/N) respected his slight, very slight, honor.

            “I speak from experience,” said (Y/N), simply, answering his original question. “As a demon I know that once I die there is nothing else for me. As a human, I didn’t know what awaited me, not really. That is why mortals have such a fascination with death despite their fear.”

            Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “And those two older memories that appeared. Were those your death and experience after?”

            (Y/N) was silent. Sebastian had never asked about their human death. They had never spoken about it. “They are what led to my death.”

            “Do you feel shame about your human life?” questioned Sebastian suddenly.

            “Excuse me?” (Y/N)’s eyes flashed. “I died and came back a demon. I’ve lived for centuries bringing justice and power to those who are preyed upon by other humans. What do I have to be ashamed of?”

            Sebastian chuckled as (Y/N) spoke before he opened his eyes. His eyes were glowing in the evening’s creeping darkness. He reached up, and his hand brushed over their skin. “Nothing. No demon like you should be ashamed of anything.” He smirked. “I chose to teach you for a reason.”

            “Because I had already died?” remarked (Y/N), eyes darting to Sebastian’s hand. They should be worried about his touch, uncomfortable as usual, but they weren’t. They stood calmly before Sebastian.

            “Because you had strength already,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow and was about to ask what that meant, but Sebastian smiled and stepped back. “Continue with your work. We shall have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” And with that, he left (Y/N) alone.

            (Y/N) gripped the shirt in their hand tightly before letting it fall to the table they were working at. What was that? (Y/N) sighed and ran a hand through their hair. They were a damn demon. They shouldn’t be at all offput with someone being that close. They’ve literally seduced dozens of people. But for some reason, Sebastian made them actually have a reaction.

            Pushing aside the feelings wasn’t working. (Y/N) couldn’t escape the thoughts. They were attracted to Sebastian. They liked him far more than a demon should like anyone. They liked the one demon who respected them but was also so skilled as a demon that he didn’t get attached to anyone.

            Damn.

l

            Sebastian quietly watched the stray cats hanging around the mansion eat the scraps of food he had given them. Ordinarily, he’d be cuddling and cooing over the cats by now, but his mind was otherwise engaged. As much as Sebastian attempted to ignore it, the picture of (Y/N)’s blood spilling flitted through his mind continuously.

            (Y/N) had come closer to death than he had ever seen them.

            And Sebastian hated it. He hated it because he was attached and he didn’t want to let them go. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. (Y/N) may have seemed unconcerned due to having already died before—which also made Sebastian angry since if drowning or flames were part of their death that was suffering he wished to impose on whoever had caused it—but Sebastian hat despised the situation. He wanted to keep them close. He shouldn’t want the bond, but he did.

            Sebastian straightened. He was attracted to (Y/N). He was attracted to the strange, human-born demon that respected him and earned his own respect and honor.

            And now he had admitted it.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

#one hell of a love #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #demon reader #demon!reader #sebastian x demon!reader #sebastian x reader #black butler sebastian #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #black butler x reader #black butler fic #black butler ciel #black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji

[callsignlucky]

talk to me, lucky (part 5)

summary: You're Maverick’s kid. You’re also Bradley Bradshaw’s best friend—or at least, you were. What lies between you two now is uncharted territory.

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw/mitchell!reader

wc: 3.1k

a/n: here she is folks i hope i did good because my imposter syndrome was running rampant while writing this one. feedback on this jawn would be so appreciated ok love u guys come n get it

<- part 4

There are professional perks to being the goddaughter of a three star admiral, but the personal perks are far better—having a godfather that absolutely adores you no matter what makes it easier to be angry at your real father.

My phone buzzed from beside me with a text, and I snagged it from the comforter beside me, lifting my head from where it was buried dejectedly into my pillows. 

🧊: I heard you had a bad day. Want to talk about it?

Dad must’ve talked to Ice about our argument. I sighed in frustration and hit my head against my NAVY-issued mattress in the NAVY-issued bland and beige bedroom that matched the rest of the NAVY-issued bland and beige house. 

🍀: Not much to talk about, Uncle Ice. 

Downstairs, the door shut, followed by the soft thump of Dad’s duffel bag hitting the floor. It took him a while to get home, and I assumed must’ve gotten chewed out by Sampson. I decided he deserved it for what he did to Bradley. My phone buzzed—another text. 

🧊: I’d say there’s a lot to talk about. I heard about your time up in the air today! Tell me, where’d you learn to fly like that?

A grin split my face and I lightly rolled my eyes. I’d heard story after story of Maverick and Iceman’s infamous rivalry during their first time through TOPGUN. It was almost hard to believe, with how close the two men are now. 

🍀: Oh, from the best pilot in the Navy. You might know him—his callsign’s Maverick. 

🧊: Haha. Very funny. 

🍀: I am a comedy genius, after all. :) 

🧊: Funniest girl I know!

I couldn’t help but be hit with a wave of mixed emotions as I watched the line blink in the text bar. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and guilt ate at me for that. 

🍀: I miss you, Uncle Ice. 

🧊: I miss you more, Pip.

I groaned when that text came in, rolling my eyes with a grin and letting my head hang back. Pip. I was the girl with a handful of nicknames, but Pip was the one I detested the most. For as long as I could remember, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky had been calling me Pip. It was short for pipsqueak, obviously, and was endearing at first before I got older and then decided it was wildly offensive. Of course, that only egged my godfather on. Eventually it became a joke more than anything, but I still liked to give Uncle Ice the reaction he was after, even if he couldn’t see me. I could just imagine him in his study, that big smile spread on his face, laughing in that cocky way that he and my father were oh so familiar with. Him reaching out reminded me how badly I needed to go see him while we were in Fightertown. Maybe I’d ask him if he wanted to have lunch, after the mission. If anything could cheer me up, it would be an afternoon spent with him. 

My phone buzzed again. A double text from Ice? Weird. Only it wasn’t Ice, it was from a number I didn’t recognize. 

Open your window. 

Frowning, I sat up in bed, eyes sliding from my phone to the window that opened up into the small front yard we had, not that we needed it. It always baffled me why they wasted the resources to put my father and I up in a house whenever we ended up on an assignment together. Probably another pen stroke from our good friend Admiral Kazansky. 

Obviously I waited too long to push the window up, because a soft tap interrupted my thought process. I raised a brow, standing up from the bed and tossing my phone aside. Another tap sounded, followed by two more before I reached the window. 

I don’t know who I was expecting to be stood beneath it, but it was not Bradley Bradshaw. I sat on the little bay seat and unlatched the window, before pushing it up. “Bradley?” 

“Hi, Cherry.” His hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans, t-shirt snug beneath what had to be one of Goose’s infamous, obnoxious Hawaiian shirts. “Can we talk?” 

“Don’t call me that.” The words snapped out of me faster than I’d intended, looking away from him, but out of the corner of my eye I could see his lips tug up into a smirk. 

“You called me Ponyboy earlier. It’s only fair.” 

“I wanted to get your attention so you’d stop being a moron.” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Pebbles, seriously?” 

“I wanted to get your attention.” He parroted back with that smirk still firm on his face, but seeing the unamused look on my face he dropped it almost instantly. “Seriously, can we talk? We could go for a drive.” 

“I have nothing to say to you.” Still not looking at him, I folded my arms in a childish pout, using my big toe to push at the carpet. 

“I’ll buy you a Big Gulp.” The offer hung in the air and it pulled my head up. I looked at the clock—it was nearly nine, far too late for caffeine, but the men in my life knew me far too well. Sugary drinks like Slurpees and Big Gulps were forbidden fruit to people who had to be in the best physical shape of their lives for the entirety of their career. I peeked down at Bradley. 

“And Hot Fries?” I asked, and Bradley grinned with a nod. 

“Whatever you want. The 7-Eleven is your oyster.” 

“What if I want to go to Circle K?” 

“Ah.” Bradley sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, they don’t have Big Gulps at the Circle K. It’s 7-Eleven or bust.” 

I pursed my lips in thought for a few more moments. “Give me five minutes.” I said, before standing, tugging the window back down, and drawing the curtains. 

Jumping out of the window seemed like a better option than passing my father in the kitchen, but if I got hurt before this mission I’d never hear the end of it. So, I yanked on some denim shorts and a hoodie from 1986 that either belonged to Ice or Goose or my father or was forgotten by Slider or maybe even belonged to Hondo and scurried down the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” Dad asked from the kitchen, and I used one hand against the door to keep myself steady as I slipped my feet into my sandals. Glancing over, he had a knife in one hand and a cutting board scattered with bell peppers in front of him. 

“Gas station.” 

“Okay.” I could hear the frown in his voice and my heart twisted. “Be safe.” 

“Always.” I pulled the door open, pausing for a moment. “I love you, Daddy.” There. That made me feel better, even if I was way too old to be using the word daddy. 

“I love you more, Birdie. See you soon.” 

I left it at that and slipped out of the door, walking down the path towards the driveway before slipping into the passenger seat of Bradley’s Ford Bronco. As soon as I was buckled up he backed out and peeled down the street, and I shoved my hands into the pocket of the hoodie and closed my eyes against the warm California wind. Music played softly from the radio, classic rock, and it was kind of nice to see that some things never changed with Bradley. 

Things were quiet on the ride over, and I decided to fall into the feeling of how things used to be. Two friends going on a late night snack run before a double feature of cheesy movies. I smiled as I watched California pass outside the window, remembering how many times we watched Interview With A Vampire with Emma Rosenberg from school. Mainly because she was in love with Lestat, who Bradley swore looked like my father. It hurt, being here with him, but at the same time it felt so perfect that I couldn’t even believe it had been ten years since we’d last seen each other. We fell back into place so perfectly it was like a puzzle finding its missing pieces. Bradley humming along to the radio, thumbs drumming softly against the steering wheel, it felt so right that I couldn’t imagine ever doing anything different. 

We were in and out of 7-Eleven in a flash, and Bradley parked at the beach by the Hard Deck, which was still packed full of people. I foresaw a long night ahead for Penny Benjamin, but I knew she didn’t mind one bit. Having her close was a comfort, because I was unsure of how this conversation would go, but we were far enough out that nobody from the team would spot us and make assumptions. 

I opened the bag of Hot Fries and popped a handful in my mouth, wondering if Bradley was gonna make the first move. By the time I swallowed, he was staring into his peanut M&Ms and I just wanted the silence to be gone. “It wasn’t my fault, you know.” I said as I leaned on the door, watching the waves through the windshield. “You could’ve been mad at him all you wanted, but I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Bradley sighed softly from beside me. “I know.” He murmured, and I looked over at him. 

“So, why? Why leave me like that?” I felt my throat tightening up and knew I was in for it. But I didn’t care if I cried in front of Bradley now that I was older, even if I didn’t feel older. He deserved to see what he did, but the way his face fell made me feel guilty in ways I’d been told I shouldn’t. “Bradley, you were my best friend for our entire lives. You were always there, and then all the sudden you were gone. And I was so confused because I waited for you to come home. I waited for you to call, or write, but you never did and I just—I don’t understand. I don’t understand what I did to you.” 

“You didn’t do a damn thing. You aren’t the problem. He is.”  Bradley’s voice came out pretty harsh, but I knew he was just frustrated. Frustrated with this entire shitty situation we’d been put in. He sat his drink in the cup holder with a heavy sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. “Your dad screwed me over. And I was so…so goddamn mad I couldn’t see straight, and I just—I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to think about him, I didn’t want anything to do with him. And you…” He paused, looking over at me. “You are a Daddy’s girl if I’ve ever seen one. You put him before everyone, and I just…assumed that meant me too. I didn’t want to put you in a position where you felt like you had to choose. Staying away from both of you was just…easier.” 

To me, that sounded like the stupidest thing I ever heard. But, Bradley’s feelings were valid, no matter how wrong I deemed them. I remembered what Dad had said on the beach, to put myself in his shoes, but that didn’t dampen my emotions any. “I shouldn’t have had to choose! B, we are your family! I understand wanting to get away but ten years? Ten years??” 

“I wanted to reach out!” He interrupted me quickly. “God, I—I wanted to reach out to you so bad but then you—“ He cut himself off with a huff through his nose and I leaned forward. 

“But then I what?” 

“You enlisted. You enlisted, and your dad didn’t do shit to stop you.” Silence overtook the cab of the Bronco as Bradley stared at his hands, fiddling idly with his keychain as it hung off the ignition. It was cheesy—a little strip of red heavy duty fabric with the words REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT stitched in white thread. It was so very Pete ”Maverick” Mitchell it almost hurt. “Your dad let you through and stood in my way. It made a lot of things crystal clear.” 

“Clear how?”

“No matter how much he claims to love me, he’ll always put his flesh and blood first.” 

“Bradley.” I scolded him like he was a child, brows furrowed with a look that called him out on how ridiculous he was being. “You know he loves you. He had his reasons, but that was absolutely not one of them.”

“I know, he told me his reason. He didn’t want to see me hurt, but that’s bullshit and you know it. He did it and it was selfish as hell, and then he turns around and lets his own daughter in?” He looked over at me. “He nearly ruins my career and then turns around and basically lights your way to an F-18 a year after pulling my papers. It’s not fair, and I guess…I guess it made me resent you a little.” 

“That’s not fair.” I whispered, and Bradley nodded.

“I know it’s not. But I couldn’t help it. I just needed time, and every time I thought I was ready to face you I remembered that wherever you are, he wasn’t too far behind. I remembered his bullshit excuse and everything snowballed and the cycle started over again.” I sat up quickly, turning my body to face him. 

“He told me the story of what happened with your dad, you know. His version of things.” The words came before I could stop them.  I wouldn’t tell Bradley the real reason behind why Dad did what he did, but I could try and put it in perspective for him. I could try to get him to see where my father was coming from. Bradley blinked at me. 

“He did?” He was surprised, and rightfully so. Dad loved to recount his glory days, told stories of his failures and victories and everything in between, but the day Goose died was something he never spoke about. Not even once. 

“He had a nightmare, about a year ago. A really bad one, one he couldn’t wake up from. I woke up to him screaming and thrashing, calling for him, for Goose.” I looked at my legs, picking at the frayed hem of my shorts, grimacing at the memory. “He finally woke up, and he just…cried. Sat there in my arms and cried and cried, and I cried too because the last time I saw him that upset was when mom died. And when he finally calmed down, he told me what really happened.” Bradley knew the story, we both did, but we didn’t know the whole thing. Carole had told us about it when we were old enough to understand, when Bradley was old enough to start to show interest in the NAVY. Interest in being just like his father. “It wasn’t the jet wash or the flat spin that had him trapped in his nightmares, it was what happened after they hit the water. Bradley, he clung to your father’s body in the middle of the ocean for almost twenty minutes. Parachutes and flight gear weighed him down, the current tried to get him away, but Dad clung to his dead weight until rescue arrived. He said it felt like hours, waiting for someone to come save Goose, even though he knew he was past saving.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Bradley’s voice cracked and I could see tears shimmering in his eyes, and I reached out after a long moment and took his hand in mine. 

“To try and help you understand.” I kept my voice soft, eyes on him even if he wouldn’t look at me. “At the time, Dad didn’t care what it did to your relationship because he was blind with fear. He’d look at you with the thought of you in a jet and he’d be back in that ocean with your dad. He was so scared of losing you, and it happened all the same.” 

“But he didn’t pull your papers.” He whispered, like he was afraid if he talked any louder his voice would betray him. 

“He learned his lesson with you.” I replied simply, dropping his hand and leaned back in my seat. Bradley stared out the windshield at the waves crashing into the sand, silence falling over us. Horrible, uncomfortable silence that made my skin crawl and it felt like it lasted hours. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after a while, and I looked over to find him looking at me. “I’m so sorry for leaving you. It wasn’t fair. I just…I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday because I miss you. I miss my best friend.” 

My eyes searched his face for a long moment, and it made me wish I'd known Goose so I could make more accurate comparisons between the two because god, he looked so much like his father. “Bradley Bradshaw, you big softie.” I sighed heavily, taking his hand and slumping back in the seat, eyes trained back on the waves. “I forgave you ten years ago.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, a smile in his voice, and I couldn’t help one from spreading on my face. 

“Yeah.” I replied softly, nodding. “If you ever pull that shit again though, you can forget it, alright? No more Cherry and Ponyboy, I am just straight kicking your ass.” 

Bradley laughed at that, so loud it echoed through the car, and dragged me across the middle seat into a big hug. “I’m never leaving you again.” He said into my hair as I wound my arms around his waist and buried my face in his shoulder. “I promise.” 

After he finally let me go, I settled back into the middle seat, his arm draped across the back of it. Hot Fries and M&Ms sat between us to share, and we watched as the sun made its final descent beneath the horizon, washing the sky in a brilliant display of cotton candy pink and purple. 

I didn’t know if things would smooth over between Bradley and my father, if Bradley could ever find it in his heart to forgive Dad like I forgave him. I didn’t know if things would ever feel completely back to normal between us, or if I’d always have a small part of me that resented him for leaving and he’d always have a small part that resented me for what my father did. 

What I did know was that horrible tension between us had eased. I could breathe again. And right then, things were good. I was happy. 

We were watching the same sunset. 

taglist below! this thing is getting LONG! sorry if I missed anyone

@zzsloth | @boringusername | @sydneejean | @mosebypineapple | @erinswrld | @roosterschanelslut | @mirandastuckinthe80s | @mak-32 | @shrimping-for-all | @rosiahills22 | @gretagerwigsmuse | @callsignbirdie | @hopefulinlove | @ponyboys-sunset | @maverick-wingman | @itscheybaby | @alanadetigy | @shanimallina87 | @actuallybarb | @majdoline | @belledawnidk | @srh5605 | @18crazybutcutealsopsycho | @hey-its-kayla-claire | @whore-for-pennywise | @notanordinaryprincess95 | @adjspam | @natzp03 | @callsign-redfox | @prongs-girlfriend | @samstersv | @morallyspookyglitter | @hope-love-equality2 | @student-disaster | @callsignfrostbite | @greaser9902 2 | @megan-schulz | @hotch-meeeeeuppppp | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @savslarabs | @caswinchester2000 | @kkrenae | @koperwiekje | @perseus-666 | @i-just-like-marvel | @abg1994 | @paintballkid711 | @turningtoclown | @deadunicorn159 | @jimmorrison13 | @awesomebooklover17 | @w0nderw0man-reading | @j-deimos | @can-this-be-a-fanfic | @justanothermagicalsara | @roostersluvvr | @itevilhag | @nonniecannie | @caldodemazapangourmet | @dracosluvbot | @posierosie | @inne-edoftherapy | @takeyour-pants-off | @luvrrish | @harper1666 | @je-suis-prest-rachel | @mayafatimakhan | @the-mouse27 | @savannah-elliott | @alanis-altair | @mrs-obrien | @callsign-blue | @tobesoquiet | @tomskookie | @marvelslut16 | @daydreamingallthetime-world | @c4relesswhisperr | @percysaidnever

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fic #tgm #top gun imagine #why did they have to kill Goose #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster/reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw/reader #bradley bradshaw/you #bradley bradshaw x reader #tom iceman kazansky #iceman kazansky #iceman #top gun 1986 #goose top gun #bradley bradshaw/reader

[writtenjewels]

See No Evil part 7

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

The shit Eric used for Jason's eyes was starting to work. Instead of staring out into dark nothingness, he could now detect light and blobby shapes. It wasn't good enough for Jason to make out any details of said blobs, but it was a hell of a lot better than before.

Jason hated leaving Salim's side, but he also wanted to know what happened during his absence and didn't think Nick would indulge in front of an “enemy”. So when Eric ordered Nick to go check the perimeter, Jason tagged along. Nick talked of trying to save Merwin and ultimately failing, seeing Clarice being pulled into the dark, and coming to Eric's rescue only to discover Rachel was already gone.

“Shit, Nicky,” Jason sighed with a shake of his head. “Sorry I wasn't there, man.”

“Doesn't sound like you could've done much. No offense.” Nick was quiet for a moment. “I found an old radio. I could tinker with it, see if I can get a signal to the surface.”

“Go for it,” Jason encouraged. He kept his ears open for trouble while Nick worked.

“So,” Nick spoke up. “What's going on with that Iraqi?”

“Salim? What do you mean?”

“I don't know. The way you two are with each other, it's like—”

“Nicky, I can't see,” Jason interrupted him. “I had to rely on him to guide me around.” Nick said nothing. A moment later there was a crackle from the radio. “You got it!” Jason celebrated.

There was a snarling sound and the rush of boots pounding the ground. Before Jason knew it, he was tackled and forced onto his back. Whatever attacked him was trying to claw at him. Instinctively he lifted his hands to fend off the thing. Was it one of the demons?

“What the fuck?” Nick gaped. “Joey?”

“Joey?” Jason repeated, squinting his eyes as if that would help his vision focus. He thought he could make out the outline of a face, but it couldn't be Joey's: the thing had something protruding from the head. He scrambled for any kind of weapon and latched onto one of his knives.

He started stabbing wildly, not caring what he hit as long as it connected. Finally Jason got enough room to kick the creature off of him. There was more scrambling of feet from behind and the creature suddenly lit up. Still shrieking, it tumbled over the side and vanished.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jason demanded.

“Those creatures don't react well to sunlight,” Eric answered. “The corpse you brought back burst into flame when exposed to the UV lamp. Did it get you, lieutenant?”

“I'm good.” Jason pushed up on his feet, glancing around. “Salim?” he called out uncertainly.

“I left him with the corpse,” Eric admitted. “Did you manage to fix the radio?”

“I think so.” Nick let out a sigh. “But I'm no mechanic. If Merwin was still here, he'd know what to do.”

“We work with what we have, sergeant,” Eric reminded him. “See if you can radio our people; I'll go back and check on the prisoner.” Jason wanted to protest that Salim wasn't a prisoner, but Eric was already moving away.

“This would be a lot easier if he had agreed to air support in the first place,” Nick complained. The radio started popping with static but Nick dismissed it as a ghost signal. He messed around a little more and there was suddenly a loud feedback noise.

“Turn it off!” Jason shouted. “You'll make those fuckers come down on us!” He could hear more shrieking from below and knew it was already too late. There was rapid gunfire and the radio went silent. “The fuck?”

“Get down!” Nick hissed, grabbing Jason and pulling him to the ground. “We're under attack! Must be the same guy who got Eric and Rachel earlier.”

“What?” Fuck, Jason wished he could see. “Where's Salim and the colonel?”

“No idea, man! We gotta live through this first!” Nick paused to return fire. Jason reached for his rifle, heart pounding. He felt so useless like this.

“Nicky, point me in the right direction and I'll cover you while you flank him.”

“Jason, you're blind.”

“You think I don't know that?” Jason snapped back. “But I can't sit around on my ass. Just point me and stay outta my line of fire.” Nick was quiet for a moment but the enemy didn't give him long to debate before opening fire again. He let out a sigh and Jason felt it as Nick positioned the rifle.

“I hope I don't regret this,” Nick muttered, and then he was running off and Jason was alone.

He gripped his rifle so the recoil wouldn't shift his position, and opened fire.

#jason/salim #jason x salim #jason kolchek x salim othman #jalim #salim othman #jason kolchek #house of ashes #nick kay

[hazelhearts]

You're Perfect

Niall Horan x Fem!reader

summary: when insecurities get in the way, your boyfriend is always there to make you feel like the most important person in the world

content/warnings: mentions of insecurities

word count: 609

note/request: "Could I get a Niall Horan x reader where she is sensitive but offensive about how she looks. Niall shows her he doesn't mind any look even if it looks messy or weight sensitive. Maybe he could like show her how beautiful he thinks she is. Reader would be female, light skin, brown hair, brown eyes. They could be long time friends that turn into a relationship" - anon

I stuck as closely to your request as I could without getting to specific about the readers appearance so everyone could insert themselves. I also kind of was at a loss for how to extend this since I struggle writing hurt/comfort but I hope you love it!

masterlist

Standing in front of the mirror crying was a very common thing for you. Your insecurities had always been a very big part of your life. They held you back from doing a lot of things. Currently, they were preventing you being able to leave the house.

Niall had a reservation set up for the two of you at one of your favorite restaurants to celebrate your anniversary. When he told you about it this morning, you already decided what you were going to wear.

You had impulsively bought a dress a few weeks back that you didn't really have any purpose for. You loved the way it looked on the model. It accentuated every curve perfectly and highlighted every breathtaking feature she had. But when you wore it, it did the opposite.

"Babe? You almost ready? We've gotta-" Niall's voice cut off as soon as he saw you. He slowly raked his eyes up and down your figure, his eyes darkening the longer he stared.

Your eyes immediately started watering as every thought he must be having began running through your mind. Every negative thought you had ever had about yourself sprang to the surface. Every negative emotion you've ever felt clouded your mind.

"I'm sorry, I'll change. I really thought this dress was perfect and it was but I ruined it and-" Niall pulled you into his arms suddenly, guiding your head to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

"Baby, you look amazing. You always do." You never knew that two sentences could push you over the edge, but they sure as hell did as violent sobs began wracking through your body.

Niall slowly led you over to the bed, sitting you on his lap as you continued crying. He repeated over and over how perfect you are as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

As your sobs slowly began to die down, you raised your head just enough to look into Niall's eyes. You took the moment to study his features. Everything from his perfectly-styled hair that is usually sloppy to his gorgeous blue eyes with the faintest bit of green was engraved into your mind, a constant reminder of just how perfect he was.

"Hi." You carefully wiped your eyes, hoping to save whatever makeup was still on your face.

"Hi petal. D'ya feel any better?" You nodded, cuddling back into the crook of his neck.

"Alright then, let's get ya cozy hm?" He moved his hand towards the back of the dress, slowly starting to unzip the zipper. Your hand flew back as soon as you comprehended what was happening, pulling his hand back between the two of you.

"Ni, what're you doing? We gotta get going." He shook his head, hair flopping wildly around after he had spent so much time fixing it.

"Nope. We're gonna stay right 'ere, in this bed, cuddlin all night long." His head moved down to your chest, leaving kisses across the open skin.

"But what about the reservation?" A small pout made its way onto your face, quickly followed by Niall's thumbs smoothing out the creases and manually lifting your lips up into a smile.

"Screw the damn reservation. I'd rather be cuddled up with m'girl any day." His hand traveled back to the zipper, you no longer fighting it.

When you both finally changed into more comfortable clothes, you cuddled up in bed and turned on one of your favorite movies. Your laughs echoed all throughout the room, redirecting Niall's focus to you every time. Honestly, he would much rather watch you watch the movie than actually watch it himself. You're just so pretty.

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#niall horan x reader #niall horan x fem!reader #nialler #niall horan #my lover #niall horan x you #tw insecurity #tw self doubt #niall james horan #girlfriend!reader #boyfriend!niall #niallfic #niall imagine #request #anon